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V. 


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Photographic 

Sciences 
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The 
to  tt 


The 
posi 
of  t» 
fllmi 


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begi 

the 

sion 

othe 

first 

sion, 

Drill 


The 
shall 
TINL 
whic 

Mapi 
diffe 
entir 
begir 
right 
requi 
meth 


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1 

J 

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12X 

16X 

20X 

24X                            28X                            32X 

1 

iplaire 
.es  details 
liques  du 
ant  modifier 
sxiger  une 
de  filmage 


Jd/ 
qudes 


taire 


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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nicessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m*thode. 


by  errata 
Tied  to 

lent 

une  pelure, 

faqon  d 


1- 


1 

8 

3 

4 

5 

6 

32X 


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K-.  i 


'A<iA/VSX^Vc  .2i<W^^. 


i^ 


SLljc  UitJfr0iDc  Literature  &fric0 


EVAAGELIXE 


A  TA  LE  OF  AC ADIE 


BY 

HENRY    WADSWOK'ni    LONGFELLOW 


wirif  J  nioaii AviiK'AL  skktcu, 
L\Ti:()h( criox  A\n  xoihs 

II.  E.  SCUDDLR 


i^U 


AND  A  SKETCH  OF  LOyr;FELLO\rS  HOME  LIFE 

1?Y  MIS   DAlCiHTKK 

ALICP:  M.  LONGFELLOW 


>l 


nounnTox,  miffmn  and  compaxy 

Boiton:  4  Park  8»,reet ;   New  York:   11  East  Seventeenth  Street 
Chicago  :  378-388  Wabash  Avenue 

(iC\)C  UitJcrfiidc  prcjis,  CatubiiDoe 


!! 


I: 

1 


'    i\ 


Houghton,  Miffmn  A-  Co.  are  the  nnh/  (lulhnrized  piiblinh^rx 
oj  the  uorks  uj  LoNcirEM-ow,  Wiiittikr,  Lowell,  Holmeh,  Kmku- 
SON,  Thoreau,  nml  Hawthorne.  All  fditionx  uhich  luck  the 
imprint  or  nulhorizittion  n/  lldiightnu,  MiJ/lin  A  Co.  areusned 
without  the  consent  and  cvntrary  to  the  utAhes  0/  the  authors  or 
their  heirs. 


CopyriRht,  isr,fi, 

hy  henry  wadswoktii  loxgfp:llow. 

Copyriplit,  li^TO, 
I5y  HOIGHTON,  OSGOOD  &  CO. 

Copyrlglit,  1S83,  1S9C, 
By  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

CopyriRlit,  189G, 
By  ALICE  M.  LONGFELLOW. 

All  rights  reserved. 


ii  ■ 


I? 


The  Jiiverxide  Press,  Cambridpe,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A, 
Elertrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  and  Company. 


A  SKETCH   OF  THE  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS 

OK 

HENRY   WADS  WORTH   LONGFELLOW. 


I. 

Thp:  liouse  is  still  standing  in  Portland,  Maine,  —  a  large, 
square,  wooden  house  at  the  corner  of  Fore  and  Ilancoek 
streets,  —  where  Longfellow  was  born,  February  27,  1807. 
Longfellow's  early  life,  h.owever,  was  passed  in  what  is 
known  as  the  Longfellow  House,  a  substantial  briek  man- 
sion in  Congress  Street.  Here  lived  his  father,  Ste})hen 
Longfellow,  and  his  mother,  Zilpha  (Wadsworth)  Long- 
fellow. The  father  was  a  lawyer,  who  gathered  honors 
through  a  long  life,  having  been  several  times  a  member  of 
the  Massachusetts  Legislature  while  Maine  was  a  district 
of  that  State ;  a  member  of  the  Hartford  Convention,  for 
he  was  a  stout  Federalist :  a  presidential  elector  when  Mon- 
roe was  first  elected  ;  and  a  membei  of  the  United  States 
House  of  Pepresentatives  from  1823  to  1825.  He  died  in 
1849,  after  Erangelhie  had  set  its  seal  upon  his  son's 
growing  reputation.  The  mother  was  daughter  of  General 
Peleg  Wadsworth,  who  had  fought  in  the  Revolutionary 
War.  Both  parents  were  descended  from  Englishmen,  who 
came  to  this  country  in  the  early  days  of  the  colony,  and 
whose  successors  were  marked  men  in  the  generations  that 
followed.  Upon  his  mother's  side  the  poet  traced  his  an- 
cestry to  four  of  the  Pilgrims  who  came  in  the  IMayflower, 
two  of  these  being  Elder  William  Brewster  and  Captain 
John  Aid  en. 


IV 


HEXRY    WA  DSWOirni  LOSa FELLOW. 


i 


TTonrv  Wadswovtli  T  oiiirfcUuw  was  the  second  son  of  the 
family.  \vhi<'li  contained  four  sons  and  four  (hiUL^ditcrs.  He 
took  his  name  fiom  his  motlier's  luothcr.  Lieutenant  Henry 
Wadsworth.  \vhos(»  h(M'oie  deatli  was  a  fresli  and  tench-r 
memory  in  the  family.  Two  years  and  a  lialf  l)efore,  on 
tiio  nij^dit  of  Se])temlier  4,  1«S()4,  he  had  heen  second  in 
command  of  the  homh-keteli  Tntre])id.  which  was  fitted  uj) 
as  an  '•  infernal,"  and  sent  stealtiiily  into  the  harhor  (»f 
'rri])o]i  to  hlow  Uj)  tlio  eneniy  s  fleet.  The  olh<'ers  and 
crew  were  to  a])))ly  the  match  and  oscapo  in  the  hoats;  ])ut 
when  the  Intiej)i(i  was  still  a  (|uarter  of  a  mile  from  her 
destination,  the  watching  nxMi  in  the  American  fleet  out- 
side saw  a  sudden  line  of  li^ht  ;  in  a  moment  a  column  of 
fire  shot  uj)  from  the  vessel,  and  with  a  tremendous  explo- 
sion homhs  l)urst  in  every  direction,  and  the  masts  and 
i'i^i;in^  flew  into  the  air.  Kvery  soul  on  hoard  jierislicd. 
Somethinfr.  perhaps,  of  this  adventire  entered  into  the 
])oet's  early  associations,  and  deepened  the  ardoV  of  his 
patriotism. 

Th(»  sea,  at  any  rate,  and  a  sea-fij^ht  nearer  home,  made 
a  part  of  his  hoyish  recollections.  In  LSlli.  when  ho  was 
six  years  old.  the  American  lu'ij^  Enterj)rise  fidl  in  with  the 
English  brig  lioxer,  outside  of  Portland  harhor,  and  a  light 
took  ])lace,  winch  could  he  heard  from  the  shore.  It  lasted 
for  three  quarters  of  an  houi-,  the  Boxer's  colors  being 
nailed  to  the  mast.  The  Enterprise  came  into  the  harbor, 
bringing  her  cai)tive.  but  both  commanders  had  been  killed 
in  the  engagement,  and  were  buried  side  by  side  in  tlie 
cemeteiy  on  Mountjoy.  In  his  poem  J^//  Lost  Youths 
Longfellow  recalls  the  town  as  it  then  was.  and  this  memo- 
rable fight :  — 

"  I  remember  the  black  wharves  and  the  ships. 
And  the  si>a-ti(los  tossing-  free  ; 
And  Spanish  sailors  with  l)eai'dod  lips. 
And  the  l)eanty  and  mystery  of  tlie  ships, 
And  the  maj^'ic  of  the  sea. 

And  the  voice  of  tliat  wayward  song 


i 
I 


I  of  the 
rs.  I le 
lie  I  try 
lender 
fore,  on 
:'on(l  in 
itted  uj) 
rbor  (»f 
L'rs  and 
its;  liiit 
■oni  lier 
eet  ()ut- 
liimn  of 
s  ex ])]()- 
sts  and 
erishcd. 
nto  the 
of    his 

p.  made 

lio  was 

•ith  the 

a  li<(ht 

t  histed 

being 

harbor, 

n  killed 

in  the 

Youth, 

memo- 


\  ; 


Mk     l.(  tNi.!  1  I  I.I  iW  "S    r.lK  I  liri    \(   K,    iMikllAMi 


li 


\ 


\-v. 


r^i  \: 


,'■■  >> 


lu 


The  1 
kept 
land  ' 
town 
time, 
in  a  1 
now  i 
land 
and  I 
the  iV 
was  I 
teach 
indul 


..IFK    AND    WRITlNdS.  v 

In  aiii^^iiig'  and  saying  still : 
'  A  b<iy'8  will  is  tlu*  wind's  will, 
And  tlu*  thoughtH  uf  youth  aru  \o\\q,  lunf^  thuughttt.' 

*'  1  runiuinher  thu  bulwark.s  by  tliu  Hliorv, 
And  tlu>  f(»rt  npon  the  hill; 
'V\\v  siiniisL'  f^^un,  with  its  hollnw  roar. 
Thf  dniiu-l»>at  n-pcatt-d  oVt  and  o'«'r. 
And  the  l>u;4'lu  wild  and  shrill. 
And  th«)  music  uf  that  old  son;;- 
Throhs  in  my  lUfmury  still: 
'A  hoy's  will  is  tlu-  wind's  will. 
And  thu  thoughts  of  youth  aru  long,  long  thuughts.' 

"  I  rcnit'ndx'r  the  s«!a-fight  far  away, 
How  it  thundi!r*-d  o'er  the  tide  ! 
And  the  dead  captains  as  thuy  lay 
In  their  graves,  o'erlooking  the  tran({uil  bay, 
Where  they  in  battle     ied. 

And  tin*  sound  of  that  mournful  song 
Goes  through  lue  with  a  thrill: 
*  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  arc  long,  long  thoughts." 

In  the  same  poem  Longfellow  speaks  of  the 

''  Gleams  and  glooms  that  dart 
Across  the  school-boy's  brain." 

The  first  schotd  which  he  attended  was  a  child's  school, 
kept  on  Spring  Street  by  a  dame  known  in  tiie  New  Eng- 
land vernacidar  as  Marm  Fellows.  Later  he  went  to  the 
town  school  in  Lovo  Lane,  now  Centre  Street,  fc.r  a  short 
time,  and  then  to  the  private  school  of  Nathaniel  11.  Carter, 
in  a  little  one-story  house  on  the  west  side  of  Preble  Street, 
now  Congress.  He  was  ])repared  for  college  at  the  Port- 
land Academy,  which  had  for  masters  the  same  Mr.  Carter 
and  Mr.  Bezaleel  Cushman,  who  subsequently  was  editor  of 
the  New  York  Evenlny  Fast.  An  usher,  also,  in  the  school 
was  Mr.  Jacob  Abbott,  who  afterward  became  famous  as  a 
teacher  and  writer  of  books  for  children.  His  amiable  and 
indulgent  manner  remained  in  the  recollection  of  his  pupil. 


n 


l! 


VI       in: Mi)'  w.inswuHTif  LONa fellow, 

I'lu'  promise  of  his  life  was  fulfilled  a  little  in  those  ear- 
liest ilay.s.  Ten  miles  from  Portland  is  the  old  Lon;;l'ellow 
homestead  at  (iorham,  and  thither  the  hoy  was  wont  to  ^'o. 
In  later  life  ho  speaks  of  "  my  pleasant  recollections  of 
(jrorham,  the  heaulil'nl  villaj,'e,  the  elms,  the  farms,  the  j)as- 
tures  s(!ented  with  jjennyroyal,  and  the  days  of  my  boyhood, 
that  have  a  perfinne  sweeter  than  held  or  Hower."  Here 
it  was,  perhaps,  or  in  Deering  AVoods,  that  he  had  those 
early  dreams  to  which  he  refers  in  the  Prelude  which  opens 
his  first  published  volume  :  — 

''And  «ln';mi.s  of  that  which  catuiot  die, 
Iirij;ht  visions,  i-aiiie  to  iiic, 
Ah  lapped  in  tlioiight  1  iisfd  to  lie, 
And  ga/u  into  thu  HuninitT  sky, 
WlifH!  tlu>  saiHn^  i-louds  went  by, 
Like  ships  upon  the  sua ; 

"  Dreams  that  the  soul  of  youth  engafje 

Kre  Kaiuy  h.us  l)et*n  (pu'lled  : 
Ohl  legends  of  the  nionkisli  pajfe. 
Traditions  of  the  saint  and  sage, 
Tales  that  have  the  rime  of  age, 

And  chronicles  of  eld." 

While  he  was  still  a  school-boy  he  had  begun  to  write 
and  to  pritit  his  })oems.  His  first  j)ublished  poem  v/as  on 
LovelVs  Fhjht.  His  experience  in  the  publication  was  re- 
called by  him  once,  in  a  conversation  with  a  younger  poet, 
William  Winter.  He  had  dropped  the  manuscript  with  fear 
and  trembling  into  the  editor's  box  at  the  ofhce  of  a  weekly 
newspai)er  in  Portland.  When  the  next  issue  of  the  paper 
appeared  the  boy  looked  eagerly,  but  in  vain,  for  his  verses. 
"  But  I  had  another  copy,"  he  said,  "  and  I  immediately 
sent  it  to  the  rival  weekly,  and  the  next  week  it  was  pub- 
lished. I  have  never  since  had  such  a  thrill  of  delight  over 
any  of  my  publications  ;  "  and  he  told  how  he  had  bought 
a  copy  of  the  jiaper,  still  damp  from  the  press,  and  walked 
with  it  into  a  by-street  ot  the  town,  where  he  opened  it, 
and  found  his  poem  actually  printed. 


LIFE  AM)    \VliITL\(iS. 


VII 


lose  ear- 

it  to  ^o. 
tionu  uf 
the  ]){is- 
)oylioo(l, 
Hero 
1(1  tliose 
:h  opens 


to  write 

was  on 

was  re- 

er  poet, 

ith  fear 

weekly 

le  paj)er 

I  verses. 

ediately 

VSLS  piib- 

rht  over 

bought 

walked 

sned  it, 


\ 


He  was  ready  for  c<>ll(*j,'e  when  he  was  fourteen,  and 
his  fatlicr  entered  him  at  Howdoin,  hut  for  some  reason 
he  passed  tlie  greater  part  of  his  Kresliman  year  at  liome. 
His  eoUege  Hfe  was  one  wliieh  increased  tlie  expectation  of 
his  friends.  One  of  his  teacliers  in  coUege,  tlie  hitu  ven- 
erable Professor  A.  S.  Packard,  once  gave  his  reminiscences 
of  tlie  poet,  who  entered  with  his  Inother  Stoplieii.  "He 
was,"  says  Professor  Packard,  "an  attractive  youth,  with 
auburn  locks,  clear,  fresh,  blooming  conijdexioii,  and,  as 
might  be  presumed,  of  \vell-l>red  manners  and  bearing." 

During  his  (">lh'ge  life  he  c()nirii)uted  to  the  pt-riodicals 
of  the  day.  i'he  most  important  of  these,  in  a  literary 
point  of  view,  was  the  Cnlfei/  Sfnfrs  Lifrrori/  (iii.':('ffr, 
which  was  published  simultaneously  in  New  York  and  Bos- 
ton. It  was  foundetl  hy  'rheoj»hilus  Parsons.  To  this  peri- 
odical Longfellow  contributed  seventeen  jmems ;  the  tirst 
five  included  under  the  division  Eiuiicr  I'ocms,  in  his  col- 
lected writings,  were  among  the  seventeen.  Fourteen  of 
Longfellow's  poems  contributed  to  the  Llfi'ranj  Gazette 
were  included  in  a  little  volnme  imldished  in  182G,  under 
the  title  of  Miscellaneous  Poems  selected  froni  the  United 
States  Llterari/  Ga::ette,  and  oro  of  these  was  I'he  Ili/ntn 
of  the  Moravian  y^inis,  which  has  lUvays  remained  a  favor- 
ite. In  1872  a  friend  brought  from  England  Coleridge's 
inkstand,  which  he  gave  to  Mr.  Longfellow,  who,  in  ac- 
knowledging the  gift,  wrote  :  — 

"  This  memento  of  the  poet  recalls  to  my  recollection  tiiat 
Theophihis  Parsons,  subse([uently  eminent  in  Massachusetts 
jurisprudence,  paid  me  for  a  dozen  of  my  early  pieces  that 
appeared  in  his  United  States  Literary  Gazette  with  a 
copy  of  Coleridge's  poems,  which  I  still  have  in  my  posses- 
sion. Mr.  Bryant  contributed  the  Forest  Jli/nui,  I'he  Old 
Mans  Funeral,  and  many  other  poems  to  the  same  peri- 
odical, and  thought  he  was  well  paid  by  receiving  two 
dollars  apiece  ;  a  price,  by  the  way,  which  he  himself  placed 
upon  the   poems,  and  at  least  double  the  amount  of  my 


.^!1 


)  .'1 


w 


\\ 


M' 


<-■ ' 


I'lli  lii 


n 


l>!  It.  I 


viii       HENRY   WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

honorarium.      Truly,  times  have  changed  with  us  littira- 
teurs  during  the  hist  half  century." 

Longfellow  graduated  secoiul  in  his  class,  and  the  class 
was  one  having  a  number  of  men  of  singular  ability.  It 
would  have  been  a  great  class  in  any  college  which  held 
Longfellow  and  Hawthorne,  but  this  had  also  George  B. 
Cheever  and  Jonathan  Cilley,  a  young  man  of  great  prom- 
ise, who  died  in  early  manhood,  and  John  S.  C.  Abbott. 
Fifty  years  after  graduation  the  surviving  members  met  at 
Brunswick,  and  Longfellow  celebrated  the  occasion  by  his 
noble  Morltari  Salutamas. 

n. 

Near  the  close  of  hirs  college  course  an  event  took  place 
in  the  order  of  academic  life  which  had  an  interesting  influ- 
ence on  the  poet's  career.  The  story  is  told  by  his  class- 
mate Abbott :  "  Mr.  Longfellow  studied  Horace  with  gi'eat 
enthusiasm.  There  was  one  of  his  odes  which  he  particu- 
larly admired.  He  had  made  himself  as  familiar  with  it  as 
if  it  were  written  in  his  own  mother  tongue,  .ind  had  trans- 
lated it  into  his  own  glowing  verse,  which  rivalled  in  melody 
the  diction  of  Horace.  There  was  at  that  time  residing  in 
Brunswick  a  very  distinguished  lawyer  by  the  name  of  Ben- 
jamin Orr.  Being  a  line  classical  scholar,  Horace  was  his 
pocket  companion,  from  whose  i)ages  he  daily  read.  He 
was,  as  one  of  the  Trustees  of  Bowdoin  College,  accustomed 
to  attend  the  annual  examinations  of  the  classes  in  the 
classics.  Ill  consequence  of  his  accurate  scholarship  he  was 
greatly  dreaded  by  the  students.  The  ode  which  pleased 
young  Henry  Longfellow  so  much  was  also  one  of  his  favor- 
ites. It  so  happened  that  he  called  upon  Longfellow  to 
translate  that  ode  at,  I  think,  our  Senior  examination.  The 
translation  wa'-.  fluent  Jind  beautiful.  Mr.  Orr  was  charmed, 
and  eagerly  inquired  the  name  of  the  brilliant  scholar. 
Soon  after  this  the  trustees  of  the  college  met  to  choose  a 
professor  of  modern  languages.     Mr.  Orr,  whose  voice  was 


V. 

IS  litUra- 

the  class 
)ility.  It 
liicli  held 
eorge  B. 
Bat  proiu- 
.  Abbott. 
fs  met  at 
)n  by  his 


LIFE  AND   WRITINGS. 


IZ 


»ok  place 
Ing  influ- 
his  class- 
ith  gi'eat 
s  particu- 
^ith  it  as 
ad  trans- 
1  melody 
siding  in 
}  of  Ben- 
}  was  his 
ad.  He 
customed 
s  in  the 
p  he  was 

pleased 
lis  favor- 
'ellow  to 
in.  The 
harmed, 

scholar, 
choose  a 
oice  was 


potent  in  that  board,  said,  ^.  Why,  Mr.  Longfellow  is  your 
man.  He  is  an  admirable  classical  sdiolar.  1  have  seldom 
heard  anything  more  beair  'ui  than  his  version  of  one  of 
the  most  difficult  odes  of  Horace. " 

The  poet  was  but  nineteen  when  the  appointment  was 
made,  and  the  confidence  which  elder  men  had  in  him  is 
more  noticeable  since  tlie  professorship  to  which  he  was 
called  was  a  new  one,  and  there  were  few,  if  any,  prece- 
dents in  other  colleges  to  determine  its  character.  At  the 
time  when  the  ap{)ointment  came  to  him  Longfellow  was 
reading  law  in  his  father's  otlice,  but  this  was  probably  only 
incidental  to  his  larger  interest  in  literature.  At  any  rate 
he  accepted  at  once  the  otft;r  made  to  him,  and  went  to 
Europe  to  qualify  himself  for  the  position  by  study  and 
travel. 

He  remained  away  tliree  years  and  a  half,  and  returned 
to  enter  upon  his  college  duties  in  the  fall  of  1S21>.  He 
had  spent  his  time  of  })reparation  in  P^ngland,  France.  Ger- 
many, Spain,  and  Italy,  and  had  laid  the  foundation  of  that 
liberal  knowledge  of  modern  European  literature  which 
served  him  in  such  good  stead  throughout  his  life.  His 
journey  did  more  than  this  for  him.  It  gave  him  the  large 
background  to  his  thoughts  which  served  to  bring  out  clearly 
the  deeper  purposes  of  life.  In  the  glowing  and  affection- 
ate dedication  to  Longfellow  by  George  AVashington  Greene 
of  his  life  of  his  grandfather.  General  Greene,  there  is  a  dis- 
tinct reference  to  this  period  of  the  poet's  life. 

"Thirty-nine  years  ago  this  month  of  April,"  he  writes 
in  April,  18()7,  '•  you  and  I  were  together  at  Na})les,  wan- 
dering up  and  down  amid  the  wonders  of  that  historical 
city,  and  consciously  in  some  things,  and  unconsciously  in 
others,  laying  up  those  precious  associations  which  are 
youth's  best  preparation  for  age.  We  were  young  then, 
with  life  all  before  us;  nnd,  in  the  midst  of  the  records  of 
a  great  past,  our  thoughts  would  still  turn  to  our  own  fu- 
ture.    Yet  even  in  looking  forward  they  caught  the  coloring 


f 

ml 


M'll 


t! 


^'1 
r 


i 


i 


I 


u 

11 

in  : 


X  HENRY    WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

of  that  past,  making  things  bright  to  our  eyes  which,  from 
a  purely  American  point  of  view,  woukl  have  worn  a  dif- 
ferent asj)ect.  From  then  till  now  the  spell  of  those  days 
has  been  uj)on  us. 

"  One  day  —  1  shall  never  forget  it  —  we  returned  at  sun- 
set from  a  long  afternoon  amid  the  statues  and  relics  of  the 
Museo  Borbonico.  Evening  was  coming  on,  with  a  sweet 
promise  of  the  stars ;  and  our  minds  and  hearts  were  so  full 
that  we  could  not  think  of  shutting  ourselves  up  in  our 
rooms,  or  of  mingling  with  the  crowd  on  the  Toledo.  We 
wanted  to  be  alone,  and  yet  to  feel  that  there  was  life  all 
around  us.  We  went  up  to  the  flat  roof  of  the  house, 
where,  as  we  walked,  we  could  look  down  into  the  crowded 
street,  and  out  \\\nn\  the  wonderful  bay,  and  across  the  bay 
to  Iscliia  and  Capri  and  Sorrento,  and  over  the  house-tops 
and  villas  and  vineyards  to  Vesuvius.  .  .  .  And  over  all, 
with  a  thrill  like  that  of  solemn  nmsic,  fell  the  splendor  of 
the  Italian  sunset. 

'"  We  talked  and  mused  by  turns,  till  the  twilight  deep- 
ened and  the  stars  came  forth  to  mingle  their  mysterious 
influences  with  the  overmastering  magic  of  the  scene.  It 
was  then  that  you  unfolded  to  me  your  plans  of  life,  and 
showed  me  from  what  *  deej)  (;isterns '  you  had  already 
learned  to  draw.  From  that  day  the  office  of  literature 
took  a  new  place  in  my  thoughts.  I  felt  its  forming  power 
as  I  had  never  felt  it  before,  and  began  to  look  with  a  calm 
resignation  upon  its  trials,  and  with  true  aj)preciation  upon 
its  rewards." 

It  is  interesting,  as  one  thinks  of  Longfellow  in  his  youth, 
and  again  in  the  splendor  of  his  age,  to  turn  to  the  words 
with  which  he  closes  the  record  of  his  first  journey :  — 

''  My  pilgrimage  is  ended.  I  have  come  home  to  rest ; 
and  recording  the  time  ])ast,  I  have  fulfilled  these  things, 
and  written  them  in  this  book,  as  it  would  come  into  my 
mind,  —  for  the  most  part,  when  the  duties  of  the  day  were 
over,  and  the  world  around  me  was  hushed  in  sleep.  .  .  . 


LIFE  AND   WRITINGS. 


XI 


The  morning  watches  have  begun.  And  as  I  write  the  niel- 
anolioly  thought  intrudes  upon  me,  To  what  end  is  all  this 
toil  ?  Of  what  avail  these  midnight  vigils  ?  Dost  thou 
covet  fame?  Vain  dreamer  !  A  few  brief  davs,  and  what 
will  the  busy  world  know  of  thee  ?  "  He  is  described  at 
this  time  as  "  full  of  the  ardor  excited  by  classical  i)ursuits. 
He  had  sunny  locks,  a  fresh  complexion,  and  clear  blue 
eyes,  with  all  the  indications  of  a  joyous  tenii)erament." 

He  entered  u})on  his  work  as  professor  with  such  spirit 
that  he  began  very  early  to  draw  students  to  Bowdoin. 
Two  years  after  entering  upon  his  new  duties,  he  was  mar- 
ried to  INIary  Storer  Potter,  daughter  of  Hon.  Barrett  Pot- 
ter and  Anne  (Storer)  Potter,  of  Portland.  Judge  Potter 
was  a  man  of  strong  character,  and  his  daughter,  by  the  tes- 
timony of  those  who  knew  her,  was  both  strong  in  her  intel- 
lectual nature  and  of  rare  beauty  of  person.  It  is  thought 
that  the  reference  is  to  her  in  the  verses  Footsteps  of  An- 
gels, where  tlie  poet,  seeing  in  a  reverie  the  forms  of  de- 
parted friends,  sings  :  — 

"And  with  them  the  Being'  Beauteous 
Who  unto  my  youth  was  given, 
More  than  all  things  else  to  love  me, 
And  is  now  a  saint  in  heaven. 

"  With  a  slow  and  noiseless  footstep 
Comes  that  messenger  divine, 
Takes  the  vacant  chair  beside  me, 
Lays  her  gentle  hand  in  mine. 

"  And  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me 

With  those  deep  and  tender  eyes, 
Like  the  stars,  so  still  and  saint-like, 
Looking  downward  from  the  skies." 

Mr.  Longfellow  held  his  professorship  at  Bowdoin  for 
five  years,  and  during  this  time  put  forth  his  first  formal 
publications.  The  earliest  book  with  which  he  had  to  do 
was  Elements  of  French  Grammar,  translated  from  the 


m 


Xll 


HENRY   WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


i  '* 


k 


^:  s; 


French  of  C.  F.  L'Homoiul,  and  i)ublished  in  1830.  Other 
works,  edited  or  transhited  l)y  him.  and  having  direct  refer- 
ence to  his  occupation  as  a  j)rofessor  of  modern  hmguages 
and  literature,  appeared  (hiring  these  five  years.  The  sub- 
jects of  his  more  i)uri'ly  literary  productions  during  this 
pei'iod  were  also  closely  connected  with  his  j)rofession.  He 
published  articles  in  the  North  Amcrlca/i  lieciew  on  the 
Orif/in  and  I*ro(/t'ess  of  the  French  Lan(jnage^  a  De- 
fence of  Foetrij,  on  the  Hist  or  if  of  the  Italian  Language 
and  Dialects,  on  Sjmnlsh  Language  and  Literature,  on 
Old  EngllsJi  Romances,  and  on  SjMulsh  Devotional  and 
Moral  Foetry.  In  1833  he  took  this  last  essay,  and  at- 
taching to  it  a  translation  of  Manrique's  Coplas,  and  of 
some  sonnets  by  Lope  de  Vega  and  others,  produced  a  vol- 
ume entitled  Coplas  de  Manrlque,  which  may  be  regarded 
as  his  first  purely  literary  venture  in  book  form.  His 
name  was  placed  on  the  title-page  with  his  title  as  pro- 
fessor, and  the  book  was  published  by  Allen  &  Ticknor, 
predecessors  of  the  present  publishers  of  his  works. 

Meanwhile  he  was  beginning  to  make  use  of  the  abun- 
dant material  which  he  had  gathered  during  his  Euro- 
jjean  sojourn,  in  the  form  of  sketches  of  travel  and  little 
romances  drawn  from  legendary  lore.  He  began  in  The 
New  England  Magazuie,  a  periodical  long  since  dead,  a 
series  of  papers  under  the  title  TJie  Schoolmaster,  but  dis- 
continued them  after  a  few  numbers  and  used  some  of  this 
material  and  nmch  more  in  liis  first  considerable  book, 
Outre-Mer. 

This  book  appeared  at  first  with  no  name  attached,  but 
it  was  i)robably  well  known  who  wrote  it ;  and  when  the 
second  part  aj)peared,  shortly  afterward.  Professor  Long- 
fellow's name  was  openly  connected  with  it.  The  last 
three  chapters  of  The  Schoolmaster  were  not  reprinted, 
and  the  serirl  was  not  resumed,  perhaps  because  the  author 
preferred  the  more  satisfactory  and  more  dignified  appear- 
ance in  book  form.     A  prior  publication  in  a  magazine  was 


LIFE  AND   WRITINGS. 


•  •• 

Xlll 


more  likely  to  obscure  a  book  then  than  now.  It  Is  not 
impossible  that  the  slight  conco])tion  of  a  schoolmaster  was 
reserved,  also,  for  future  use  in  tiie  tale  of  Kdvanaah. 

His  work  as  an  author  and  tliat  as  a  professor  were  sub- 
stantially one.  "He  proved  hiniself,"  says  one  of  his  con- 
temporaries at  Bowdoin,  **  a  teaclier  who  never  wearied  of 
his  work,  wlio  won  by  his  gentle  grace,  and  connnanded 
respect  by  his  self-respect  and  his  resj)ect  for  his  olHce." 
He  assumed  the  duties  of  librarian,  also,  and  his  work  was 
comprehensively  literary.  He  was  twenty-six  years  old, 
and  had  made  a  positive  place  in  literature. 

III. 

In  a  letter  dated  Boston.  January  5,  1835,  Mr.  George 
Ticknor,  tlien  Professor  of  the  French  and  Spanish  Lan- 
guages and  of  Belles  Lettres  at  Harvard  College,  wrote  as 
follows  to  his  friend,  C.  S.  Daveis,  of  Portland:  "Besides 
wishing  you  a  happy  New  Year,  I  have  a  word  to  say 
about  myself.  I  have  substantially  resigned  my  place  at 
Cambridge,  and  Longfellow  is  appointed  sul)stantially  to 
fill  it.  I  say  siibstantiallii,  because  he  is  to  pass  a  year  or 
more  in  Germany  and  the  North  of  Europe,  and  I  am  to 
continue  in  the  place  till  he  returns,  whicli  will  be  in  a  year 
from  next  Commencement,  or  thereabouts." 

The  transfer  from  Bowdoin  to  Harvard  grew  out  of  the 
increasing  reputation  of  the  young  professor,  and  in  taking 
another  journey  to  Europe  he  was  carrying  forward  tlie 
same  spirit  of  thorough  preparation,  and  was  completing 
the  survey  of  European  languages  and  literature,  by  making 
acquaintance  with  those  parts  unvisited  in  his  former  resi- 
dence abroad.  His  eighteen  months  of  travel  and  study 
were  very  productive,  but  they  were  shadowed  l^y  the  death 
of  his  wife,  who  was  taken  ill  at  Rotterdam,  and  died  there 
November  29,  1835.  The  record  of  his  life  during  this 
time  is  partially  disclosed  in  the  pages  of  Hyperion,  and 
the  mournful  character  of  its  early  chapters  may  well  be 


j^l; 


;    i 
)    ' 

I] 


[} 


\  \ 


xiv       HENRY   WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


;f  r 


J    f: 


1  i 


taken  as  echoing  the  temper  in  which  he  ])ursued  Iiis  soli- 
tary studies. 

He  returned  to  America  in  Noveniher,  183(5,  and  after 
a  sljort  visit  to  liis  home  in  Porthmd  lie  entered  upon  his 
new  worlc  at  Camhrid<jje.  The  house  wliivdi  is  so  ideiitified 
witli  Longfellow's  life  was  his  home  from  the  time  he  came 
to  Cambridge  until  his  death,  although  it  was  not  till  1843 
that  he  became  actual  owiici-  of  it.  The  ample,  dignified 
mansion  on  lirattle  Street  has  a  generous  surrounding  of 
green  fields,  and  a  clear  outlook  across  meadows  to  the 
winding  Charles  and  the  gentle  hills  beyond,  but  in  1836 
it  was  even  more  rural  in  its  position.  The  history  of  the 
house  carries  it  back  to  the  days  of  the  rich  Tory  mer- 
chants, wl;0  were  so  loath  to  abandon  the  ease  and  dignity 
of  the  province  for  the  anxieties  and  levelling  of  an  inde- 
pendence of  Kngland.  It  was  built  by  John  Vassall  in 
1759,  as  a  home  for  himself  and  his  b;'ide,  who  was  a  sister 
of  the  last  royal  lieutenant-governor  ot  the  province.  At 
the  outbreak  of  the  Revolution  Vassall  fled  to  London,  and 
the  house  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  provincial  govern- 
ment. When  soldiers  flocked  to  Cambridge,  after  the  Lex- 
ington and  Concord  fight,  it  was  used  by  a  battalion  of 
Colonel  John  Glover's  regiment  of  Marblehead  fishermen. 
They  held  it  but  a  short  time,  for  upon  Washington's  ar- 
rival in  Cambridge  the  house,  as  the  most  commodious  in 
the  place,  was  made  ready  for  the  general's  headquarters. 
Here  Washington  and  his  military  family  remained  during 
the  siege  of  Boston. 

Upon  the  transfer  of  military  movements  southward, 
Nathaniel  Tracy,  of  Newburyport,  who  had  grown  rich  by 
privateering,  bought  the  estate ;  but  his  wealth  vanished 
almost  as  rapidly  as  it  was  acquired,  rnd  in  1786  the  place 
was  sold  to  Thomas  Russell,  the  first  president  of  the  United 
States  Branch  Bank  ;  and  he  in  his  turn  sold  it  in  1792 
to  Andrew  Craigie,  who  had  been  apothecary-general  to 
the  Continental  Army,  and  had  amassed  a  fortune  in  that 


■/^y 


tl 


if-.-^' 


d  his  soli- 

aiul  after 

upon  his 

ideiitified 

e  he  came 

t  till  1843 

,  dignified 

iinding  of 

vvs   to  the 

t  in  1836 

[)iy  oi  the 

Fory  mer- 

ik1  dignity 

t  an  inde- 

V^assall  in 

as  a  sister 

ince.     At 

ndon,  and 

1  govern - 

the  Lex- 

talior.  of 

shermen. 

ton's  ar- 

idious  in 

Iquarters. 

Id  during 

[ithward, 

rich  by 

ranished 

le  place 

United 

[n  1792 

leral  to 

in  that 


'i* 


■  "^ 


\k 


1 1 

■I 


\ 


f 

r 


')■  I 


LIFE  AND   WRITINGS. 


XV 


?* 


office.  He  became  emharrassed  in  his  affairs,  and  when 
he  (lied  hi«  widow,  who  ("ontimu'd  to  hve  there,  drew  her 
income  in  part  from  the  h-ase  of  rooms  in  her  liouse  to 
college  officers  and  others.  Mr.  Sparks  went  tliere  to  live, 
and  was  at  work  upon  his  edition  of  the  life  and  writings 
of  Washingt<»n  in  the  very  room  occupied  hy  the  general. 
Hither  also  came  Dr.  ICdward  Everett,  and  here  lived  and 
worked  Dr.  Joseph  K.  Wcvcoster,  the  Icxicograplier. 

The  story  is  told  that  when  Mr.  Longfellow  knocked  at 
the  door  and  asked  the  ftately  old  lady  if  she  would  receive 
him  as  a  lodger,  she  demurred. 

■   "  J  am  sorry  to  tell  you,"  she  said,  *'  that  I  never  have 
students  to  live  with  me.'' 

"  But  I  am  not  a  student,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  a  pro- 
fessor in  the  University." 

"  A  professor  ? "  She  looked  curiously  at  one  so  like 
most  students  in  appearance. 

"  I  am  Professor  Longfellow,"  he  said. 

"  If  you  are  the  autlior  of  Outre-Mer,  then  you  can 
come,"  said  the  old  lady,  and  proceeded  to  show  him  her 
house.  She  led  him  up  tiie  broad  staircase,  and,  proud 
of  the  historic  mansioji,  opened  one  spacious  room  after 
another,  only  to  close  the  door  of  each,  saying,  "  You  can- 
not have  that,"  until  at  length  she  led  him  into  the  south- 
east corner  room  of  the  second  story.  "  This  was  General 
Washington's  cham])er,"  she  said ;  ''  you  may  have  this." 
And  here  he  gladly  set  up  his  home. 

Old  Madam  Craigie  continued  to  live  in  the  house  until 
her  death.  On  one  occasion  her  poet  lodger,  entering  her 
parlor  in  the  morning,  found  her  sitting  by  the  open  win- 
dow, through  which  innumerable  canker-worms  had  crawled 
from  the  trees  they  were  devouring  outside.  They  had 
fastened  themselves  to  her  dress,  and  hung  in  little  writhing 
festoons  from  the  wliite  turban  on  her  head.  Her  visitor, 
surprised  and  shocked,  asked  if  he  could  do  nothing  to 
destroy  the  worms.     Raising  her  eyes  from  the  book  which 


xvi       HENRY   WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


It  \ 


] , 


{ 


\ 


\ 


1. 1'i 
I) 


|il 


4?  I 


I- 


I.  ■'    .   *; 


I 


rIio  sat  rahnly  roadinpf,  she  said  in  tones  of  solemn  rebuke, 
"Yoiiii^'  man,  have  not  our  fi'llow-wovnis  as  good  a  riglit  to 
live  as  we?"  Dr.  Worcester  '»o""^'t  tlie  estate,  and  after- 
•vard  sold  it  to  l\Ir.  L()n;;t■^•ll<)^ 

lie  spent  seventeen  years  in  Canil)ri<lge  as  professor,  and 
he  earried  the  title  the  rest  of  his  days.  It  has  not  been 
customary  of  late  years  to  associate  Mr.  Longfellow  with 
academic  life,  hut  while  ho  was  engaged  in  it  he  gave 
himself  to  it  with  great  assiduity.  Under  Mr.  Ticknor's 
management,  the  inodern  languages  and  literature  at  Har- 
vard had  heen  erected  into  a  (lei)artinent,  with  four  for- 
eigners for  teachers,  all  being  directed  and  supervised  by 
the  j)rofessor  in  charge.  Something  of  the  nature  of  this 
department  jtlan,  whicli  was  an  innovation  upon  the  cus- 
tomary college  method,  may  be  gathered  from  the  letter 
of  INIr.  Ticknor  already  (pioted,  in  which  he  announced 
the  election  of  JNIr.  Longtcllow.  "  Within  the  limits  of  the 
department,"  he  writes,  "  I  have  entirely  broken  up  the 
division  of  classes,  established  fully  the  princi])le  and  prac- 
tice of  progress  according  to  j)roliciency,  and  introduced 
a  system  of  voluntary  study,  which  for  several  years  has 
embraced  from  one  hundred  and  forty  to  one  hundred  and 
sixty  students ;  so  that  we  have  relied  hardly  at  all  on 
college  discipline,  as  it  is  called,  but  almost  entirely  on  the 
good  dispositions  of  the  young  men  and  their  desire  to 
learn." 

The  traditions  of  this  department  were  carried  forward 
by  Mr.  Longfellow,  as  may  be  seen  by  an  animated  letter 
of  reminiscences,  written  in  1881  by  Rev.  Edward  Everett 
Hale,  who  was  one  of  his  students :  — 

"  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  be  in  the  first  '  section,'  which 
Mr.  Longfellow  instructed  personally  when  he  came  to  Cam- 
bridge in  1836.  Perhaps  I  best  illustrate  the  method  of  his 
instruction  when  I  say  that  I  think  every  man  in  that  sec- 
tion would  now  say  that  he  was  on  intimate  terms  with  Mr. 
Longfellow.     We  are  all  near  sixty  now,  but  I  think  that 


w. 


LIFE  AXD   WniTlXCS. 


xvii 


in  rebuke, 
a  ri^l>t  to 
iiid  after- 

e.ssor,  and 

not  been 

How  with 

he  gave 

Ticknor's 

e  at  Har- 

four  for- 

rvised  by 

re  of  this 

1  the  ciis- 

the  letter 

mnounced 

lits  of  the 

;n   up  the 

and  ])rac- 

ntroduced 

years  has 

id  red  and 

at  all  on 

ily  on  the 

desire  to 

.  forward 
ted  letter 
d  Everett 

m,'  which 
e  to  Cam- 
lod  of  his 
that  sec- 
witli  Mr. 
link  that 


every  one  of  the  section  would  expect  to  have  Mr.  Lonriffel- 
low  recognize  hiui,  and  woiild  enter  into  familiar  talk  with 
him  if  they  met.  From  the  first  ho  chose  to  take  with  us 
the  relation  of  a  personal  friend  a  few  years  older  than  we 
were. 

"  As  it  happened,  the  regular  recitation  rooms  of  the  col- 
lege were  all  in  use,  and  indeed  I  think  he  was  hardly  ex- 
pected to  teach  any  language  at  all.  Ho  was  to  oversee  the 
department  and  to  lecture.  But  he  seemed  to  teach  us 
German  for  the  love  of  it ;  I  know  T  thought  he  did,  and 
till  now  it  never  occurred  to  me  to  ask  whether  it  were  a 
part  of  his  regular  duty.  Any  way,  we  did  not  meet  him 
in  one  of  the  rather  <liugy  'recitation  rooms,'  but  in  a  sort 
of  parlor,  carpeted,  hung  witli  pictures,  and  otherwise  hand- 
somely furnished,  which  was,  I  believe,  called  'the  Corpora- 
tion Room.'  Wo  sat  round  a  mahogany  table,  which  was 
reported  to  be  meant  for  the  dinners  of  the  trustees,  and  the 
whole  affair  had  the  asjiect  of  a  friendly  gathering  in  a 
private  house,  in  which  the  study  of  German  was  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  occasion.  These  accidental  surroundings  of  the 
place  characterize  well  enough  the  whole  proceeding. 

"  He  began  with  familiar  ballads,  read  them  to  us,  and 
made  us  read  them  to  him.  Of  course  we  soon  committed 
them  to  memory  without  meaning  to,  and  I  think  this  was 
probr.biy  part  of  his  theory.  At  the  same  time  we  were 
learning  the  paradigms  by  rote.  But  we  never  studied  the 
grammar  except  to  learn  them,  nor  do  I  know  to  this  hour 
what  are  the  contents  of  half  the  pages  in  the  regular  Ger- 
man grammars. 

"  This  was  quite  too  good  to  last ;  for  his  regular  duty 
was  the  oversight  of  five  or  more  instructors,  who  were 
teaching  French,  German,  Italian,  Spanish,  and  Portuguese 
to  two  or  three  hundred  undergraduates.  All  these  gentle- 
men were  of  European  birth,  and  you  know  how  under- 
graduates are  apt  to  fare  with  such  men.  Mr.  Longfellow 
had  a  real  administration  of  the  whole  department.     His 


I 


1 


I 


y} 


\ 


;1 


^ 


•  •• 

XVI 11 


HENRY   WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


\    ( 


' 


^!    ^ 


m 


title  was  'Smith  Professor  of  ISIodcrn  Literature,'  1  nit  we 
always  railed  Iiiin  '  tiic  Head,'  because  he  was  liead  of  the 
departiuent.  We  never  kuew  when  he  nii^dit  look  in  on  a 
recitation  and  virtually  conduei  it.  We  were  delighted  to 
have  liiin  eome.  Any  slipsliod  work  of  some  poor  wretch 
from  France,  who  was  torniented  l>y  wild-cat  S(»j)hoinores, 
would  he  made  straij,dit  and  decorous  and  all  rij^ht.  We  all 
knew  he  was  a  ])o('t,  and  were  ])roud  to  have  him  in  the 
college,  hut  at  the  same  time  we  resj)ectcd  him  as  a  man  of 
affairs. 

*'  Besides  this,  he  lectured  on  authors  or  more  general 
suhjects.  I  think  attendance  was  voluntary,  hut  I  know  we 
never  missed  a  lecture.  I  have  full  notes  of  his  lectures  on 
Dante's  Dlvina  Commedla,  which  confirm  my  recollections, 
namely,  that  he  read  the  whole  to  us  in  Knglish,  and  ex- 
plained whatever  he  thought  needed  comment.  I  have  often 
referred  to  these  notes  since.  And  though  I  supj)ose  he 
included  all  that  he  thought  worth  while  in  his  notes  to  his 
translatioii  of  7^. ante,  I  know  that  until  that  was  published 
I  could  find  no  such  reservoir  of  comment  on  the  i)oem." 

Another  of  his  jnipils,  T.  W.  Higginson,  in  recalling  the 
days  of  Longfellow's  professorship,  writes  :  "  In  respect  of 
courtesy  his  manners  quite  anticij)ated  the  present  time,  and 
were  a  marked  advance  upon  the  merely  pedagogical  rela- 
tion which  then  prevailed.  He  was  one  of  the  few  profes- 
sors who  then  addressed  his  pu})ils  as  '  ]\Ir. ;  '  his  tone  to 
them,  though  not  paternal  or  brotherly,  was  always  gentle- 
manly. On  one  occasion,  during  an  abortive  movement 
toward  rebellion,  some  of  the  elder  professors  tried  in  vain 
to  obtain  a  hearing  from  a  crowd  of  angry  students  col- 
lected in  the  college  yard  ;  but  when  Longfellow  spoke, 
there  was  a  hush,  and  the  word  went  round,  'Let  us  hear 
Professor  Longfellow,  for  he  always  treats  us  as  gentlemen.' 
As  an  Instructor  he  was  clear,  suggestive,  and  encouraging ; 
his  lectures  on  the  great  French  writers  were  admirable, 
and  his  facility  in  equivalent  phrases  was  of  great  use  to 


e,'  Init  we 
ad  of  the 
ok  ill  on  a 
lighted  to 
)or  wretch 
phoiiiores, 
.  We  all 
ill!  in  the 
■>  a  man  of 

[•e  p^eneral 
[  know  we 
eetures  on 
'ollections, 
li,  and  ex- 
have  often 
iippose  he 
Dtes  to  his 
published 
poem." 
billing  the 
respect  of 
time,  and 
gical  rela- 
jw  profes- 
is  tone  to 
^s  gentle- 
novement 
id  in  vain 
lents  col- 
w  spoke, 
t  ns  hear 
ntlemen.' 
(iiraging ; 
imirable, 
it  use  to 


LIFE  AXD   WRITINGS. 


xix 


his  pupils  and  elevated  their  standard  of  translation.  He 
was  scrupulously  faithful  to  his  duties,  and  even  went 
through  the  exhausting  process  of  marking  French  exer- 
cises with  exemplary  patience.  Besides  his  own  classes  in 
]\Iolit're,  Racine,  and  other  poets,  he  had  the  general  su|)er- 
vision  of  his  <lepartment,  which  included  subordinate  teach- 
ers in  French,  Spanish,  Italian,  and  (Jernnn.  All  these 
were  under  his  authority,  and  he  doubtless  had  the  s«'lection 
of  all  appointees.  There  was  jjrohahiy  no  college  in  the 
United  States  which  had  so  large  a  corps  of  instructors  in 
the  modern  languages  as  had  Harvard  at  that  tinie." 

With  the  regular,  methodical  hal)its  indicated  in  the  fore- 
going reminiscences,  the  ])rofessor  found  ])laco  for  the  lit- 
terateur and  poet.  Contributions  to  the  Xorth  Ameriran 
"  were  continued,"  and  it  is  to  bo  noted  that  one  of  these 
was  a  hearty  recognition  of  Hawthorne's  Ticlt'C  -  Told 
Tales,  which  appeared  in  1837,  and  needed  at  tin;  time  all 
the  encouragement  which  a])])reciative  minds  could  give. 
How  much  pleasure  it  gave  to  Hawthorne  may  be  read  in 
the  letter  which  the  story-teller  was  moved  to  write  to  the 

critic  :  — 

Salem,  June  10,  ISoT. 

Dear  Longfellow,  —  I  have  to-day  received  and  read  with 
huge  delight  your  review  of  Hawthorne's  Tirlcc-Told  Talcs. 
I  frankly  own  that  I  was  not  witliout  hopes  that  you  would  do 
this  kind  office  for  the  book  ;  though  I  could  not  have  antici- 
pated how  very  kindly  it  would  be  done.  Whether  or  no  the 
public  will  agree  to  the  praise  which  you  best()\v  on  nie,  there  are 
at  ?east  five  persons  who  think  you  the  most  sagacious  critic  on 
earth,  namely,  my  mother  and  two  sisters,  my  old  maiden  aunt, 
and  finally  the  strongest  believer  of  the  wiiolu  five,  my  own  self.. 
If  I  doubt  the  sincerity  and  correctness  of  any  of  my  critics,  it 
shall  be  of  those  who  censure  me.  Hard  would  be  the  lot  of  a 
poor  scribbler,  if  he  may  not  have  this  privilege.  .  .  . 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

Natii.  Hawthorne. 

Other  papers  of  this  period  were  articles  on  TegnSr^s 


t 


\ 
i 


r, 


m 


';1    I 


1 


is 


I?T 


XX        HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Frithiof's  Saga  and  Anglo-Saxon  Liferattire,  indicative  of 
his  scholastic  work. 


1 


IV. 


I.  in  I' 


-  5 


Ab  On(re-Mer  was  in  some  ways  the  report  of  his  first 
journey  to  Europe,  so  Ifyperion  stands  as  expressive  of  his 
second.  Ovtre-Mer  is  a  record  of  travel,  continuous  in  its 
geographical  outline,  but  separated  from  ordinary  itineraries 
by  noting  less  the  personal  accidents  of  the  traveller  than 
the  poetic  and  romantic  scenes  which,  whether  of  the  present 
or  the  past,  marked  the  journey  and  transformed  it  into  the 
pilgrimage  of  a  devotee  to  art.  In  Hyperion  a  more  delib- 
erate romance  is  intended,  but  the  lights  and  shades  of  the 
story  are  heightened  or  deepened  by  the  passages  of  travel 
and  study,  which  form  the  background  from  which  the 
human  figures  are  relieved.  It  is  interesting  to  observe 
how,  as  the  writer  v/as  more  withdrawn  from  the  actual 
Europe  of  his  eyes,  he  used  the  Europe  of  his  memory  and 
imagination  to  wait  upon  the  movements  of  a  profounder 
study,  the  adventures  of  a  human  soul.  These  two  books 
and  the  occasional  critical  papers  are  characterized  by  a 
strong  consciousness  of  literary  art.  Life  seems  always  to 
suggest  a  book  or  a  picture,  and  nature  is  always  viewed  in 
its  immediate  relation  to  form  and  color.  There  is  a  singu- 
lar discovery  of  the  Old  World,  and  while  European  writers 
like  Chateaubriand,  for  example,  were  turning  to  America 
for  new  and  unworn  images,  Longfellow,  reflecting  the  awak- 
ing desire  for  the  enduring  forms  of  art  which  his  country- 
men were  showing,  eagerly  disclosed  the  treasures  to  which 
the  owners  seemed  almost  indifferent.  It  is  difficult  to 
measure  the  influence  which  his  broad,  catholic  taste  and 
his  refined  choice  of  subjects  have  had  upon  American  cul- 
ture through  the  medium  of  these  works,  and  that  large 
body  of  his  poetry  which  draws  an  inspiration  from  foreign 
life. 


'■  •■n 


LIFE  AND   WRITINGS. 


XXI 


Hyperion  at  once  became  a  general  favorite.  Barry 
Cornwall  is  said  to  have  read  it  tlirough  once  a  year  for  the 
sake  of  its  style.  It  is  so  faithfnl  in  its  descriptions  that  it 
still  serves  as  a  companion  to  travellers  on  the  Rhine,  and 
is  read  at  Heidelberg  and  elsewhere  somewhat  as  Byron 
used  to  be  read  in  Switzerland  and  Italy.  It  contains  some 
translations  also  of  German  verse,  whifh  by  their  musical 
form  obtained  at  once  a  popularity  aside  from  the  prose 
romance. 

The  same  year,  1839,  which  saw  the  publication  of 
Hyperion  saw  also  the  ai)pearance  of  Longfellow's  iirst  vol- 
ume given  wholly  to  verse,  a  thin  book  entitled  Voices  of 
the  Niyht.  He  had  been  contributing  poems  from  time 
to  time  to  the  Knickerbocker  Mayazitie,  and  he  now 
collected  these,  some  of  the  earlier  poems  contributed  to 
the  United  States  Literary  Gazette^  the  poetry  in  the 
volume  of  Coplas  de  Manri'iue,  the  verses  contained  in 
Hyperion^  and  other  translations.  The  most  famous  poem 
in  this  collection  was  the  Fsahn  of  Life.  It  was  written, 
we  are  told  by  Mr.  Fields,  on  a  bright  summer  morning  in 
July,  1838,  as  the  poet  sat  at  a  small  table  between  two 
windows,  in  the  corner  of  his  chamber.  He  kept  it  unpub- 
lished for  some  time,  since  it  had  a  very  close  connection 
in  his  own  mind  with  the  troubles  throunh  which  he  had 

O 

lately  passed. 

In  1841  the  next  volume  of  poems  was  issued,  under 
the  title  of  Ballads  and  other  Poems,  —  a  title  still  pre- 
served in  a  division  of  his  collected  poems.  It  may  be 
said  to  contain  more  of  his  famous  short  poems  than  any 
other  volume  which  he  issued,  for  it  opens  with  The  Skele- 
ton in  Armor  ;  it  holds  The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,  The 
Village  Blacksmith,  The  Rainy  Day,  To  the  River 
Charles,  Maidenhood,  and  Excelsior.  In  tlie  notes  to  'lis 
poems  Mr.  Longfellow  has  himself  related  the  slight  inci- 
dents which  led  to  the  writing  of  The  Skeleton  in  Armor. 

A  letter  from  Mr.  Longfellow  to  Mr.  Charles  Lanmau 


Pi 


if.   (■ 


h.ai 


1     I 


xxii      HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

gives  an  interesting  account  of  the  circumstances  attending 
the  production  of  The  Wreck  of  the  Hespenis  :  — 

Cambridge,  November  24,  1871. 

My  dear  Sir,  —  Last  night  I  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving 
your  friendly  letter  and  the  heautiful  pictures  that  came  with  it, 
and  I  til  auk  you  cordially  for  the  welcome  gift  and  the  kind 
remembrance  that  prompted  it.  They  are  both  very  interesting 
to  me  ;  particularly  the  Reef  of  Norman's  Woe.  What  you  say 
of  the  ballad  is  also  very  gratifying,  and  induces  me  to  send  you 
in  return  a  bit  of  autobiography. 

Looking  over  a  journal  for  1839,  a  few  days  ago,  I  found  the 
following  entries  :  — 

"  December  17.  —  News  of  shipwrecks,  horrible,  on  the  coast. 
Forty  bodies  washed  ashore  near  Gloucester.  One  woman  lashed 
to  a  piece  of  wreck.  There  is  a  reef  called  Norman's  Woe, 
where  many  of  these  took  place.  Among  others  the  schooner 
Hesperus.  Also,  the  Seuflower,  on  Black  Rock.  I  will  write  a 
ballad  on  this. 

"  December  30.  —  Wrote  last  evening  a  notice  of  Allston's 
poems,  after  which  sat  till  1  o'clock  by  tlie  fire,  smoking  ;  when 
suddenly  it  came  into  my  head  to  write  the  Ballad  of  the 
Schooner  Hesperus,  which  I  accordingly  did.  Then  went  to 
bed,  but  could  not  sleep.  New  thoughts  were  running  in  my 
mind,  and  I  got  up  to  add  them  to  the  Ballad.  It  was  3  by  the 
clock." 

All  this  is  of  no  importance  but  to  myself.  However,  I  like 
sometimes  to  recall  the  circumstances  under  which  a  poem  was 
written,  and  as  you  express  a  liking  for  this  one  it  may  perhaps 
interest  you  to  know  why  and  when  and  how  it  camp  into  exist- 
ence. I  had  quite  forgotten  about  its  first  pul-iication  ;  but  I 
find  a  letter  from  Park  Benjamin,  dated  January  7,  1840,  be- 
ginning (you  will  recognize  his  style)  as  follows  :  — 

"Your  ballad,  The  Wreck  of  The  Hesper^is,  is  grand.  In- 
closed are  twenty-five  dollars  (the  sum  you  mentioned)  for  it, 
paid  by  the  proprietors  of  *  The  New  World,'  in  which  glorious 
paper  it  will  resplendently  coruscate  on  Saturday  next." 

Pardon  this  gossip,  and  believe  me,  with  renewed  thanks, 
yours  faithfully, 

Henry  W,  Longfellow. 


i:.A 


attending 

24, 1871. 

receiving 

le  with  it, 

the  kind 

iterestinjr 

it  you  say 

send  you 

found  the 

the  coast, 
an  lashed 
u's  Woe, 
schooner 
1  write  a 


LIFE  AND   WRITINGS. 


XXlll 


i 


Allstou's 
ig  ;  when 
i   of  the 

went  to 
ig  in  my 

3  by  the 

er,  I  like 
loem  was 
perhaps 
ito  exist- 
1  ;  but  I 
L840,  be- 
nd. In- 
i)  for  it, 
glorious 

thanks, 

LLOW. 


The  word  excelsior  happened  to  catch  his  eye  one  even- 
ing as  he  was  reading  a  bit  of  newspaper,  and  his  mind 
began  to  kindle  over  the  suggestion  of  the  word.  He  took 
the  nearest  scrap  of  j)aper,  which  happened  to  be  a  letter 
from  Charles  Sumner,  and  wrote  the  verses  with  correc- 
tions on  the  back.  Tlie  scrap  is  still  preserved  and  shown 
at  the  library  of  Harvard  University.  A  pretty  story  is 
told  of  the  fortunes  of  one  of  the  poems  in  the  volume,  the 
well-known  iMalden/iood.  Once  when  it  was  printed  in  an 
illustrated  paper,  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  poor  woman 
living  in  a  lonely  cabin  in  a  sterile  portion  of  the  North- 
west. She  had  papered  the  walls  of  her  cabin  with  the 
journals  which  a  friend  had  sent  her,  and  this  poem  with  its 
picture  was  upon  the  wall  by  her  table.  Here,  as  she  stood 
at  her  bread-making  or  ironing,  day  after  day,  she  gazed  at 
the  picture  and  read  the  poem  until,  by  long  brooding  over 
it,  she  understood  it  and  absorbed  it  as  people  rarely  pos- 
sess the  words  they  read.  The  friend  who  sent  her  the 
papers  was  himself  a  man  of  letters,  and  coming  afterward 
to  see  her  in  her  loneliness,  stood  amazed  and  humbled  as 
she  talked  to  him  artlessly  about  the  poem,  and  disclosed 
the  depths  of  her  intelligence  of  its  beauty  and  thought. 

In  1842  he  paid  a  third  visit  to  Europe.  It  was  on  his 
return  voyage  in  October  that  he  wrote  the  Poems  on 
Slavery  which  made  his  next  volume,  and  formed  his  con- 
tribution to  the  discussion  which  was  then  engrossing  so 
much  of  the  thought  of  the  country. 

In  July,  1843,  he  married  Miss  Fanny  Appleton, 
daughter  of  the  late  Nathan  Appleton,  of  Boston,  a  lady 
of  noble  bearing,  of  great  beauty  of  person  and  dignity  of 
ciiaracter,  whom  he  had  met  on  his  recent  journey  in 
Europe.  By  her  he  had  two  sons  and  three  daughters. 
Mrs.  Longfellow  died  July  9,  18G1,  under  circumstances 
which  caused  a  terrible  shock.  She  had  been  amusing  her 
children  with  some  seals  which  she  made,  when  some  of 
the  burning  wax  fell   upon   her  light   summer  dress,  and 


1: 


'II 


xxiv     HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


S  ' 


f'  f 


!  I 


before  help  could  be  given  she  had  received  severe  burns, 
from  which  she  died  in  a  few  hours.  The  shock  to  the 
poet  was  so  great  that  for  a  time  it  seemed  as  if  reason 
itself  was  in  danger ;  but  tlie  firnmess  and  calmness  of 
his  nature  reasserted  itself,  and  he  slowly  came  back  to  his 
singing.  His  friends  were  wont  to  observe,  however,  his 
increased  signs  of  age  and  the  greater  silence  of  his  life. 
"  I  have  never  heard  him  make  but  one  allusion  to  the 
great  grief  of  his  life,"  said  an  intimate  friend.  "  We 
were  speaking  of  Schiller's  fine  poem,  '  The  Ring  of  Poly- 
crates.'  He  said,  '  It  was  just  so  with  me.  I  was  too 
happy.  I  might  fancy  the  gods  envied  me,  if  I  could 
fancy  heathen  gods.'  " 

To  return  to  his  publications  in  the  order  of  their  ap- 
pearance. The  Sr)anish  Student  came  out  in  1843,  and 
in  1845  he  edited  a  little  collection  of  poems  called  The 
Waif.  In  the  same  year,  also,  he  made  the  important  col- 
lection known  as  The  Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe,  con- 
taining biographical  and  critical  sketches,  with  translations 
by  various  English  poets,  his  own  contribution  being  con- 
siderable. In  1846  appeared  The  Belfry  of  Bruges  and 
other  Poems,  and  the  next  year  came  Evangeline. 

Two  years  later,  in  1849,  appeared  Mr.  Longfellow's 
latest  prose  work,  Kavanagh,  a  tale  of  New  England  life, 
and  in  1850  a  new  volume  of  poems,  entitled  The  Seaside 
and  the  Fireside.  The  dedication  of  this  volume,  ad- 
dressed to  no  one  name,  is  a  graceful  acknowledgment  of 
the  multitudinous  responses  which  he  was  now  receiving. 
"  Thanks,"  he  says,  — 

"  Thanks  for  the  sympathies  that  ye  have  shown ! 
Thanks  for  each  kindly  ■word,  each  silent  token, 
That  teaches  me,  when  seeming-  most  alone, 

Friends  are  around  us,  though  no  word  be  spoken. 

"  Kind  messages,  that  pass  from  land  to  land  ; 

Kind  letters,  that  betray  the  heart's  deep  history, 
In  which  we  feel  the  pressure  of  a  hand,  — 

One  touch  of  fiie,  —  and  all  the  rest  is  mystery  I " 


w. 


LIFE  AND   WRITINGS. 


XSY 


ere  burns, 
ck  to  the 

if  reason 
Imness  of 
aek  to  his 
vever,  his 
f  his  life. 
)n  to  the 
d.     "  We 

of  Poly- 
[  was  too 
t  I  could 

their  ap- 
843,  and 
died  The 
rtant  col- 
"ope^  con- 
mslations 
sing  con- 
iges  and 

gfeliow's 
and  life, 
Seaside 
mie,  ad- 
jment  of 


sceivinj;. 


And  the  Dedication  closes  with  words  which  had  a  truly 
prophetic  meaning :  — 

"  Therefore  I  hope,  as  no  unwelcome  guest, 

At  your  warm  fireside,  when  the  lamps  are  lighted, 
To  have  my  place  reserved  among  the  rest, 
Nor  stand  as  one  unsought  and  uninvited!  " 

The  longest  poem  in  the  collection  was  27iG  Building  of 
the  Shi/),  —  "that  admirably  constructed  poem,"  as  Dr. 
Holmes  says,  "  beginning  with  tlie  literal  des('ri})tion,  pass- 
ing into  the  higher  region  of  sentiment  by  the  most  natural 
of  transitions,  and  ending  with  die  noble  climax, 

"  '  Thou  too  sail  on,  0  Ship  of  State,' 

which  has  become  the  classical  expression  of  pati'iotic  emo- 
tion." It  would  be  curious  if  it  should  prove  that  the  ode 
of  Horace,  the  translation  of  'vhich  led  to  Mr.  Longfellow's 
appointment  to  a  professorship  at  Bowdoin,  was  that  one 
beginning  — 

"  O  navia  referent  in  mare  te  novi," 

which  the  poet  so  nobly  repeated  in  higher  strains  at  the 
close  of  The  Ijuilding  of  the  Ship.  Mr.  Noah  Brooks,  in 
a  paper  on  "  Lincoln's  Imagination,"  which  he  contributed 
to  Scribner's  Monthly  (August,  1879),  mentions  that  he 
found  the  President  one  day  attracted  by  these  closing 
stanzas,  which  were  quoted  in  a  political  speech.  "  Know- 
ing the  whole  poem,"  he  adds,  "  as  one  of  my  early  ex- 
ercises in  recitation,  I  began,  at  his  request,  with  the 
description  of  the  launch  of  the  ship,  and  repeated  it  to  the 
end.     As  he  listened  to  the  last  lines,  — 

"  '  Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee. 
Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears, 
Our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears. 
Are  all  with  thee,  —  are  all  with  thee  !  ' 

his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  his  cheeks  were  wet.  He 
did  not  speak  for  some  minutes,  but  finally  said  with  sim- 


)  ^ 


1' 

ii' 


ii 


XXVI     HENRY   WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

pHcity,  '  It  is  a  wonderful  gift  to  be  able  to  stir  men  like 
that'  '* 

V. 

The  critics  had  complained  of  the  European  flavor  of 
Mr.  Longfellow's  verse.  He  was  steadily  keeping  on  his 
way,  however,  expressing  his  nature  honestly,  and  finding 
a  noble  delivery  in  such  national  poems  as  The  Building 
of  the  Ship. 

It  is  noticeable  how  much  more  fully  the  tide  of  his  poe- 
try set  in  the  direction  of  America  after  the  publication  of 
Eoangeliae ;  while  The  Golden  Legend  v/as  published  in 
1851,  and  is  perhaps  the  most  perfect  expression  of  the  Old 
World  in  his  verse.  The  Song  of  Hiawatha  appeared  in 
1855,  and  awakened  an  enthusiasm  which  was  unexampled 
in  the  history  of  his  literary  career. 

The  story  is  told  that  in  the  summer  of  1857  acting 
Governor  Stanton,  of  Kansas,  paid  a  visit  to  the  citizens  of 
Lawrence,  in  that  State.  After  partaking  of  the  hospital- 
ities shown  him  by  Governor  Robinson,  he  addressed,  by 
request,  a  crowd  of  some  five  hundred  free-state  men,  who 
did  not  hesitate  to  manifest  their  disapprobation  at  such 
portions  of  his  speech  as  did  not  accord  with  their  peculiar 
political  views.  At  the  close  of  his  speech  Mr.  Stanton 
pictured  in  glowing  language  the  Indian  tradition  of  Hia- 
watha, of  the  "  peace  pipe "  shaped  and  fashioned  by 
Gitche  Manito,  and  by  which  he  called  tribes  of  men  to- 
gether, closing  with  the  lines,  — 

*'  I  am  weary  of  your  quarrels, 
Weary  of  your  wars  and  bloodslied, 
Weary  of  your  prayers  for  veng'eance, 
Of  your  wrauglings  and  dissensions ; 
All  your  strength  is  in  your  union, 
All  your  danger  is  in  discord  ; 
Therefore  be  at  peace  henceforward, 
And  as  brothers  live  together."' 

The  aptness  of  the  quotation  from  so  favorite  a  poem  acted 


Uk( 
api 


w. 

men  like 


flavor  of 
ig  on  his 
d  findinof 
Building 

his  poe- 
icatioii  of 
lished  in 
f  the  Old 
jeared  in 
ixampled 

7   acting 
tizens  of 
hospital- 
!ssed,  by 
len,  who 
at  such 
peculiar 
Stanton 
of  Hia- 
ned    by 
men  to- 


LIFE  AND   WRITINGS. 


xxvii 


n  acted 


like  a  charm  for  the  time  in  pacifying  the  crowd,  who 
applauded  vociferously. 

Innumerable  discussions  arose  over  the  faithfulness  of 
the  poem  to  Indian  traditions,  but  the  most  renowned  In- 
dian scholars  supported  the  claims  of  the  poem  to  truthful- 
ness, and  the  licjuid  names  passed  at  once  into  common 
use.  It  may  fairly  be  said  that  by  this  work  a  popularity 
was  given  to  Indian  names  which  did  much  to  preserve 
them  from  disuse  as  titles  to  rivers,  mountains,  and  dis- 
tricts. 

The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish  appeared  in  1858, 
and  the  volume  bearing  tliis  title  contained  also  a  number 
of  short  poems,  under  the  collective  title  Birds  of  Passacje. 
The  Atlantic  Monthlij  had  been  established  the  year  before, 
and  in  the  first  number  Mr.  Longfellow  published  his  poem 
Santa  Filomena.  He  became  a  very  frequent  contributor, 
and  some  of  the  poems  in  this  volume  were  those  which 
had  thus  far  appeared  in  The  Atlantic.  Indeed,  after  this 
date,  his  smaller  volumes  of  original  verse  were  for  the 
most  part  collections  from  time  to  time  of  poems  which 
were  first  printed  in  that  magazine.  In  the  following  year 
the  poet  received  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Laws  from 
Harvard. 

In  the  fall  of  1863  was  published  Tales  of  a  Wayside 
Inn,  with  a  few  poems  added  under  the  title  Birds  of 
Passage,  Flight  the  Second.  The  Tales  constitute  the 
division  known  as  the  First  Day,  for  the  volume  as  now 
published  contains  also  two  other  parts.  TliC  Prelude  to 
this  first  part,  introducing  the  characters  who  share  in  the 
festivities  of  the  Inn,  has  always  been  a  favorite,  and  the 
seveval  personages  have  been  identified  with  more  or  less 
confidence,  the  Inn  itself  being  the  old  Howe  Tavern,  which 
still  stands  by  the  turnpike  which  runs  through  Sudbury, 
in  Massachusetts :  the  landlord  is  easily  said  to  stand  for 
Lyman  Howe ;  the  theologian  for  Professor  Treadwell,  the 
physicist,  who  was  also  an  unprofessional  student  of  theol- 


n; 


'/■■I 


■!  !' 


xxviii     HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


j    '': 


ogy ;  the  poet  for  T.  W.  Parsons,  the  musician  for  Ole 
Bull,  tlie  student  for  Henry  Wales,  and  the  Sicilian  for 
Luigi  Monti.  The  original,  if  there  was  one,  of  the  Span^ 
ish  Jew  is  not  known. 

Flo Luer-dc- Lace  was  the  title  of  a  small  volume  of  poems 
published  in  1807,  and  the  same  year  appeared  the  iirst 
of  the  three  volumes  containing  the  i)oet's  translation  of 
Dante,  a  work  which  was  completed  by  the  press  in  1872. 
One  of  his  friends  states  that  his  translation  of  the  Inferno 
"  was  the  result  of  ten  minutes'  daily  work  at  a  standitig 
desk  in  his  library,  while  his  coffee  was  reaching  the  boil- 
ing point  on  his  breakfast  table."  As  he  was  an  orderly 
man,  and  like  all  highly  organized  natures  set  a  high  value 
on  time,  this  may  well  have  been ;  but  the  final  result  was 
obtained  only  after  a  long  and  careful  consideration,  in 
which  the  poet  invited  the  aid  of  Mr.  Lowell,  Professor 
Norton,  Mr.  Howells,  and  other  Italian  scholars,  who  met 
with  him  in  a  little  club  for  the  discussion  of  the  work. 

In  May,  18G8,  Mr.  Longfellow  again  visited  Europe 
with  his  family,  and,  going  now  with  the  accumulating 
honors  of  his  eminent  career,  his  presence  was  the  occasion 
there  of  marked  homage.  Especially  was  this  true  in  Eng- 
land, where  he  received  abundant  social  and  civic  honors. 
The  University  of  Cambridge  conferred  on  him  the  degree 
of  Doctor  of  Laws,  and  Oxford  gave  him  the  title  of 
Doctor  of  Civil  Law  the  next  year.  An  English  reporter 
describes  him  as  he  appeared  at  Cambridge  in  the  scarlet 
robes  of  an  academic  dignitary  :  — 

"  The  face  was  one  which,  I  think,  would  have  caught  the 
spectator's  glance  even  if  his  attention  had  not  been  called 
to  it  by  the  cheers  which  greeted  Longfellow's  appearance 
in  the  robes  of  an  LL.  D.  Long  white  silken  hair  and  a 
beard  of  patriarchal  length  and  whiteness  inclosed  a  young, 
fresh-colored  countenance,  with  fine-cut  features  and  deep- 
sunken  eyes,  overshadowed  by  massive  black  eyebrows. 
Looking  at  him,  you  had  the  feeling  that  the  white  head  of 


9W. 

I  for  Ole 
iilian  for 
tlie  Spall' 

of  poems 
the  lirst 

slution  of 
in  1872. 

J  Inferno 
standing 
the  boil- 

II  orderly 
igli  value 
esult  was 
ation,  in 
Professor 
who  met 
ork. 

Europe 
rnulating 
occasion 

in  Eng- 

lionors. 
e  degree 

title  of 
reporter 
e  scarlet 

ught  the 
n  called 
learance 
and  a 
young, 
id  deep- 
ebrows. 
head  of 


LIFE  AND    WRITINGS. 


XXIX 


hair  and  beard  were  a  mask  put  on  to  conceal  a  young 
man's  face ;  and  that  if  the  poet  chose  he  could  tlirow  off 
the  disguise,  and  appear  as  a  man  in  the  prime  and  bloom 
of  life." 

VT. 

Mr.  Longfellow  returned  to  his  home  in  the  fall  of  1809. 
During  his  absence  The  New  Emjlund  Tragedies  had  been 
publislied,  and  in  1872  came  out  The  Dirine  Trarjedij. 
At  the  same  time  the  poet  publislied  liis  Chrlsfus,  which 
consists  of  The  Dirine  Tragedy^  The  Golden  Legend.,  and 
The  New  England  Tragedies.,  as  a  consecutive  trilogy,  and 
it  is  to  be  regarded  as  the  poet's  most  serious  and  profound 
undertaking.  In  the  same  year  appeared  also  Three  Books 
of  Song,  which  contained  the  Second  Day  of  Tales  of  a 
Wayside  Inn,  Judas  Maccahccus.,  and  a  number  of  trans- 
lations. In  1874  was  published  Aftermath,  which  com- 
prised the  completion  of  Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn  and  the 
Third  Flight  of  Birds  of  Passage.  The  Masque  of 
Pandora  and  other  poems  followed  in  1875. 

This  volume  contained  the  poem  Morituri  Salutamns, 
read  by  the  poet  at  the  gathering  of  his  classmates  upon 
the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  graduation  at  Bowdoin.  The 
occasion  was  one  of  singular  interest,  and  the  fact  that  the 
poet  had  never  publicly  recited  one  of  his  poems  except  in 
the  case  of  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  poem  at  Harvard  in  1833, 
gave  a  special  value  to  the  servic.  in  the  plain  cliurch 
building  at  Brunswick.  He  expressed  his  relief  when  he 
found  that  he  could  read  his  poem  from  the  pulpit,  for,  as 
he  said,  "  Let  me  cover  myself  as  much  as  possible ;  I 
wish  it  micfht  be  entirely."  In  the  same  volume  was  The 
Hanging  of  the  Crane,  the  delightful  domestic  poem  which 
had  been  previously  issued  with  abundant  illustrations  the 
year  before,  after  it  had  been  first  printed  in  The  New 
York  Ledger,  the  poet  receiving  for  its  publication  there 
the   unprecedented    sum   of   four  thousand  dollars.      The 


I. 


1^ 


\'^ 


I  i 


I  m 


\] 


i>v 


i 


li 


XXX      HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


if  '*"  ?; 


Masque  of  Paiulora  was  adapted  for  tlie  stage  aiid  set  to 
music  by  Alfred  Ccllier,  and  brought  out  at  the  Boston 
Theatre  in  1881. 

Shortly  after  the  publication  of  this  volume  there  began 
to  ap])ear  a  series  of  volumes,  edited  by  IMr.  Longfellow, 
entitled  Poeins  of  Places,  which  were  published  at  inter- 
vals during  the  next  four  years,  and  extended  to  thirty-one 
volumes ;  the  work  of  sifting  and  arranging  these  poems 
gave  him  un  agreeable  owupation,  for  he  was  always  at 
borne  in  the  best  poetry  of  the  world.  While  the  series 
was  in  progress  he  issued,  in  1878,  Keramos  and  other 
Poems,  which  gathered  up  the  poems  which  he  had  been 
publishing  the  past  three  years.  It  is  noticeable  that  in 
these  later  volumes  the  sonnet  held  a  conspicuous  place. 
Among  these  is  the  touching  one  entitled  A  Namelecs 
Grave,  of  which  the  origin  is  told  by  Mrs.  Ai)pliia  How- 
ard :  — 

"  I  found  in  1864,  on  a  torn  scrap  of  the  Boston  Satur- 
day Euening  Gazette,  a  description  of  a  burying  -  ground 
in  Newport  News,  where  on  the  head-board  of  a  soldier 
might  be  read  the  words  '  A  Union  Soldier  mustered  out,' 
and  this  was  the  only  inscription.  The  correspondent  told 
the  brief  story  very  effectively,  and,  knowing  Mr.  Long- 
fellow's intense  patriotism  and  devotion  to  the  Union,  I 
thought  it  would  impress  him  greatly,  I  knew  also  that 
the  account  would  seem  vital  to  him.  from  the  fact  that  his 
own  son  Charles  was  a  Union  soldier  and  severely  wounded 
during  the  war. 

"  After  carefully  pasting  the  broken  bits  together  on 
a  bit  of  cardboard  I  sent  it  to  Mr.  Longfellow  by  Mr. 
[G.  W.]  Greene,  who  did  not  think  Longfellow  would  use 
it,  for  he  declared  '  a  poet  could  not  write  to  order.'  In 
a  few  days  Mr.  Longfellow  acknowledged  it  by  a  letter, 
which  I  did  not  at  all  expect,  as  follows  :  — 

" '  In  the  writing  of  letters,  more,  perhaps,  thar  in  any- 
thing else,  Shakespeare's  words  are  true ;  and 


LIFE  AND   WRITINGS. 


XXXI 


cl  set  to 
Boston 

e  began 
gfellow, 
it  inter- 
lirty-one 
3  poems 
ways  at 
le  series 
\d  other 
ad  been 
that  in 
s  place. 
^amele3s 
a  How- 

1  Satur- 
■  ground 

soldier 
ed  out,' 

nt  told 
Long- 

nion,  I 


so  that 
;hat  his 
ounded 

;her  on 
jy  Mr. 
ild  use 
r.'  In 
letter, 

in  any- 


*  "  The  fliplity  piirposo  never  i«  o'ertook 
Unless  the  deed  ^o  with  it." 

For  this  reason,  the  touching  incident  you  have  sent  me 
has  not  yet  sliaped  itseU'  poetically  in  my  mind,  as  I  liope 
it  some  day  will.  Meanwhile,  I  tliank  yoji  most  sincerely 
for  bringing  it  to  my  notice,  and  I  agree  with  you  in  thinit- 
ing  it  very  heantitid.' "  It  was  ten  years  and  more  before 
the  sonnet  was  ])riiite(l ;  how  long  it  may  liave  lain  in  the 
poet's  drawer  we  do  not  know. 

The  last  published  vohnne  was  Ulfimn  Th\dc„  issued  in 
1880,  and  containing  a  few  melodions  verses.  A  singular 
interest  attaches  to  the  volume.  It  is  dedicated  to  his  life- 
long friend  George  Washington  Greene,  whose  tender  dedi- 
cation to  the  poet  of  his  life  of  his  grandfather  disc^losed  a 
little  of  the  poet's  inner  life  also.  It  touches  upon  the 
friendships  of  the  jjoct,  that  for  Hayard  Taylor  and  for  the 
poet  Dana,  and  it  contains  the  lines  From  my  Arm-Chair^ 
which  have  set  a  precious  seal  upon  the  poet's  relation  to 
childhood.  The  origin  of  the  poem  is  well  known,  but  de- 
serves to  be  repeated.  The  poem  TJie  Village  Jilacksmith 
had  been  a  great  favorite,  and  visitors  to  Cambridge  did  not 
fail  to  seek  the  spreading  chestnut  under  which  the  smithy 
once  stood.  The  smithy  disajjpeared  several  years  ago  ;  but 
the  tree  remained  until  187(),  when  the  city  government, 
with  a  prudent  zeal  which  no  remonstrance  of  the  poet  and 
his  friends  could  divert,  ordered  it  to  be  cut  down,  on  the 
plea  that  its  low  branches  endangered  drivers  upon  high 
loads  passing  upon  the  road  be  neath  it. 

The  after-thought  came  to  construct  some  memento  of  the 
tree  for  the  poet,  and  the  result  was  the  j)resentation,  upon 
the  poet's  seventy-second  birtlulay,  by  the  children  of  Cam- 
bridge, of  a  chair  made  from  the  wood  of  the  tree.  The 
color  is  a  dead  black,  the  effect  being  produced  by  ebon- 
izing  the  wood.  The  upholstering  of  the  arms  and  the  cush- 
ion is  in  green  leather.  The  casters  are  glass  balls  set  in 
sockets.     In  the  back  of  the  chair  is  a  circular  piece  of 


:Ml 


^A 


i\ 


u\ 


xxxii     HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

carvinGf,  consisting  of  horso-chrstnut  leaves  and  blossoms. 
Ilorso-chestnut  leaves  and  burrs  arc  ])r(;sented  in  varied 
combinations  at  otber  points.  Underneatb  the  cushion  is  a 
brass  plate,  on  which  is  the  following  inscription  :  — 

To 

The  Author 

of 

TnK  ViLLAOK  Blacksmitit 

This  t'liair,  made  fioiu  tlie  wood  of  the 

sproiidiiig  clu'stnut-tree, 

is  prpsontod  as 

An  expression  of  grateful  regard  and  veneration 

by 

The  Children  of  Cand)ridge, 

who  with  tlieir  friends  join  in  best  wishes 

and  congratidations 

on 

This  Anniversary, 

February   27,    1879. 

Around  the  seat,  in  raised  German  text,  are  the  lines  from 
the  poem,  — 

"  And  chilflren  coniinp^  home  from  school 
Look  in  at  the  open  door 
And  catch  the  burninjr'  sp.irks  that  fly 
Like  chaff  from  a  threshing'  floor." 

The  poem  From  mi/  Ai'vi-Chcur  was  the  poet's  response 
to  the  gift.  In  1880,  when  the  city  of  Cambridge  cele- 
^  cited  the  two  hundred  and  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the 
founding  of  the  town,  December  28th,  theie  was  a  children's 
festival  in  the  morning  at  Sanders  Theatre,  and  the  chair 
stood  prominently  on  the  pLatform,  where  the  thousand 
school-children  gathered  could  see  it.  The  poem  was  read 
to  them  by  Mr.  Riddle,  and,  better  than  all,  the  poet  him- 
self came  forward,  to  the  surprise  of  all  who  knew  how 
absolute  was  his  silence  on  public  occasions,  and  standing, 


\v. 


LIFE  AND  WRiriyas. 


XXXUl 


)l08S0m8. 

II   varied 
hion  is  a 


n 


nes  from 


response 
ge  cele- 
'  of  the 
lildren's 
he  chair 
housand 
,vas  read 
oet  him- 
lew  how 
tanding, 


the  picture  of  heautiful  old  ago,  lie  spoke  smilingly  these 
few  words  to  the  deligiitod  children  :  — 

My  dkau  YouNd  Fkif.nds,  —  I  do  not  rise  to  niako  an  ad- 
dress to  you,  hut  to  excuse  niysclf  from  making  one.  I  know 
the  provorh  says  that  lie  who  excuses  himself  accuscH  himself, 
and  I  am  willing  on  this  occasion  to  accuse  myself,  for  I  feel 
very  much  as  I  suppose  some  of  you  do  when  yoji  are  suddenly 
called  upon  in  your  class-room,  and  arc  obliged  to  say  tli.i*^  you 
are  not  prepared.  I  am  glad  to  see  your  faces  and  to  hear  your 
voices.  I  am  glad  to  have  this  opportunity  of  thanking  you  in 
prose,  as  I  have  already  done  in  verse,  for  the  heautiful  present 
you  made  me  some  two  years  ago.  Pcjrhaps  some  of  you  liavo 
forgotten  it,  hut  I  have;  not  ;  and  I  am  afraid  —  yes,  I  am  afraid 
—  that  fifty  years  hence,  when  you  celehrate  the  three  hundredth 
anniversary  of  this  occasion,  this  day  and  all  that  belongs  to  it 
will  have  passed  from  your  memory  ;  for  an  Knglish  philosopher 
has  said  that  the  ideas  as  well  as  childrcK  of  our  youth  often  die 
before  us,  and  our  minds  represent  to  us  those  t()nd)S  to  which 
we  are  approaching,  where,  though  the  hrass  and  marble  remain, 
yet  the  inscriptions  are  effaced  hy  time,  and  the  imagery  mould- 
ers away. 

The  chair  gave  the  children  a  prond  feeling  of  proprie- 
torship in  the  poet,  and  hundreds  of  little  boys  and  girls 
presented  t'..emselves  at  the  door  of  the  famous  house. 
None  were  ever  turned  away,  and  pleasant  memories  will 
linger  in  the  minds  of  those  who  boldly  asked  for  the  poet's 
hospitality,  unconscious  of  the  tax  which  they  laid  upon  him. 
A  pleasant  story  is  told  by  Luigi  Monti,  who  had  for  many 
years  been  in  the  habit  of  dining  with  the  poet  every  Satur- 
day. One  Christmas,  as  he  was  walking  toward  the  house, 
he  was  accosted  by  a  girl  about  twelve  years  old,  who  in- 
quired where  Mr.  Longfellow  lived.  He  told  her  It  was 
some  distance  down  the  street,  but  if  she  would  walk  along 
with  him  he  would  show  her.  When  they  reached  the  gate, 
Bhe  said,  — 

"  Do  you  think  I  can  go  into  the  yard  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Signer  Monti.     "  Do  you  see  the  room 


"il 


■|i 


;  f 


1 


-'A 


y\ 


l>] 


xxxiv     HENRY   WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


on  the  left  ?  That  is  where  Martlia  Washington  held  her 
receptions  a  hundred  years  ago.  If  you  look  at  the  win- 
dows on  the  right  you  will  probably  see  a  w^hite-haired 
gentleman  reading  a  paper.  "Well,  that  will  be  Mr.  Long- 
fellow." 

The  child  looked  gratified  and  happy  at  the  unexpected 
pleasure  of  really  seeing  the  man  whose  poems  she  said  she 
loved.  As  Signor  Monti  drew  near  the  house  he  saw  Mr. 
Longfellow  standing  with  his  back  against  the  window,  his 
head  out  of  sight.  VVIien  he  went  in,  the  kind-hearted 
Italian  said, — 

"  Do  look  out  of  the  window  and  bow  to  that  little  girl, 
who  wants  to  see  you  very  much." 

"  A  little  girl  wants  to  see  me  very  much  ?  Where  is 
she?"  He  hastened  to  the  door,  and,  beckoning  with  his 
hand,  called  out,  "  Come  here,  little  girl ;  come  here,  If  you 
want  to  see  me."  Slie  came  forward,  and  he  took  her  hand 
and  asked  her  name.  Then  he  kindly  led  her  into  the 
house,  showed  her  the  old  clock  on  the  stairs,  the  children's 
chair,  and  the  various  souvenirs  which  he  had  gathered. 
This  was  but  one  little  instance  of  many. 

Indeed,  it  was  not  to  children  alone  that  he  was  kind. 
Numberless  were  the  acts  of  courtesy  which  he  showed  not 
to  the  courteous  only,  but  to  those  whom  others  would 
have  turned  away.  "  Bores  of  all  nations,"  says  Mr.  Nor- 
ton, "  especially  of  our  own,  persecuted  him.  His  long-suf- 
fering patience  was  a  wonder  to  his  friends.  It  was,  in 
truth,  tne  sweetest  charity.  No  man  was  ever  before  so 
kind  to  these  moral  mendicants.  One  day  I  ventured  to 
remonstrate  with  him  on  his  endurance  of  the  persecutions 
of  one  of  the  worst  of  the  class,  who  to  lack  of  modesty 
added  lack  of  honesty,  —  a  wretched  creature,  —  and  when 
I  had  done  he  looked  at  mo  with  a  pleasant,  reproving, 
humorous  glance,  and  said,  '  Charles,  who  would  be  kind  to 
him  if  I  were  not  ?  '     It  was  enough." 

*'  I  happened,"  says  a  writer,  "  to  \)e  often  brousjht  into 


w. 

held  her 
the  win- 
;e-liaired 
r.  Long- 

2xpected 
said  she 
saw  Mr. 
dow,  his 
-hearted 

ttle  girl, 

Vliere  is 
with  his 
e,  if  you 
ler  hand 
into  the 
lildren's 
atliered. 

IS  kind. 
wed  not 
would 
[r.  Nor- 
ong-suf- 
was,  in 
?fore  so 
ured  to 
mentions 
nodesty 
d  when 
)roving, 
kind  to 

•hi  into 


LIFE  AND   WRITINGS. 


XXXV 


contact  with  a  very  intelligent  but  cynical  and  discontented 
laboring  man,  who  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  railing 
against  the  rich.  To  such  men  wealtli  and  poverty  are 
the  only  distinctions  in  life.  In  one  of  his  denunciations  I 
heard  him  say,  '  I  will  make  an  exception  of  one  rich  man, 
and  that  is  Mr.  Longfellow.  You  have  no  idea  how  much 
the  laboring  men  of  Cambridge  think  of  him.  There  is 
many  and  many  a  family  that  gets  a  load  of  coal  from  Mr. 
Longfellow,  without  anybody  knowing  where  it  comes  from.' 
.  .  .  The  people  of  Cambridge  delighted  in  ]\Ir.  Longfel- 
low's loyalty  to  the  town  of  his  residence  and  its  society. 
They  could  not  fail  to  be  gratified  that  lie  and  his  family 
did  not  seek  the  society  of  the  neighboring  metropolis,  or 
rather  usually  declined  its  solicitations,  and  i)ref erred  the 
simple  and  familiar  ways  and  old  friends  of  the  less  preten- 
tious suburban  community.  Nothing  could  be  more  charm- 
ing than  the  apparently  absolute  unconsciousness  of  distinc- 
tion which  pervaded  the  intercourse  of  Mr.  Longfellow  and 
his  family  with  Cambridge  society." 

The  title  of  Ultima  Thule  was  a  tacit  confession  that  the 
poet  had  reached  the  border  of  earth,  but  the  last  poem  in 
the  volume.  The  Poet  and  his  Songs,  was  a  truer  confes- 
sion that  the  singer  must  sing  when  the  songs  come  to  him  ; 
and  thus  from  time  to  time,  in  the  last  year  of  his  life,  Mr. 
Longfellow  uttered  his  poems,  reading  the  proof,  indeed,  of 
one.  Mad  River,  but  a  few  days  before  his  death,  the  poem 
appearing  in  the  May  number  of  The  Atlantic. 

As  the  seventy-fifth  anniversary  of  the  poet's  birth  drew 
near,  there  was  a  spontaneous  movement  throughout  the 
country  looking  to  the  celebration  cf  the  day,  especially 
among  the  school-children.  The  recitation  of  his  poems  by 
thousands  of  childish  voices  was  the  happiest  possible  form 
of  honoring  him.  In  his  own  city  of  Cambridge  all  the 
schools  thus  remembered  him,  and  numberless  schools  in 
the  West  and  South  also  took  the  same  form  of  celebra- 
tion ;  while  the  Historical  Society  which  had  its  home  in  his 


'ii'T-i;  ^H 


iiti 


.  i,  if! 


Xxxvi     HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

birthplace  held  a  meeting,  and  its  members  gave  themselves 
up  to  pleasant  remhiiscences  of  the  poet. 

He  had  been  confined  to  the  house  for  several  weeks  be- 
fore his  last  sickness,  but  in  the  warm  days  of  early  spring 
had  ventured  upon  his  veranda.  A  neighbor  recalls  the 
pretty  sight  of  the  gray-haired  poet  playing  with  his  little 
grandchild  one  day  in  Mardi.  It  was  not  until  Monday, 
March  20th,  that  the  fatal  illness  caused  serious  alarm  ; 
and  on  Friday,  the  24th,  the  bells  tolled  his  death.  His 
neighbors  and  the  whole  community  showed  their  solicitude 
in  those  few  days.  The  very  children  were  heard  to  say, 
as  they  passed  his  gate,  *'  We  must  tread  gently,  for  Mr. 
Longfellow  is  very  sick."  The  message  of  his  death  was 
sent  round  the  world,  and  probably  not  a  journal  in  Chris- 
tendom but  had  some  vvords,  few  or  many,  in  regret  and 
honor,  upon  receipt  of  the  news.  On  Sunday,  March  26, 
1882,  he  was  buried  from  his  home,  where  his  family  and  a 
few  of  his  nearest  friends  were  gathered.  He  was  laid  in 
Mount  Auburn  Cemetery,  in  Cambridge ;  and  that  after- 
noon Appleton  Chapel,  of  Harvard  University,  was  opened 
for  a  simple  memorial  service,  thronged  by  a  silent  multi- 
tude, who  listened  to  the  tender  discourse  of  two  of  the 
college  clergy,  to  the  hymns  of  the  college  choir,  and  to  the 
consolation  of  the  sacred  Scriptures. 


s 


r  \\ 


- 


i  '^ 


... . 


■  V  '    ':  h 


ow. 

m 

bemselves 

iveeks  be- 
I'ly  spring 
jcalls  the 
liis  little 
Monday, 
s  alarm  ; 
ith.  His 
solicitude 
i  to  say, 
,  for  Mr. 
leath  was 
in  Chrls- 
gret  and 
[arch  28, 
ily  and  a 
IS  laid  in 
lat  after- 
opened 
tit  multi- 
of  the 
id  to  the 


i 


;  1 


!  ■>. 


B 


I 


]  '   I 


s  ■  n 


nizir 
have 
or  ri 
Lonj 
his  1 
in  hi 
was 

H 
delic 
of  e: 
Ther 
and  ] 
life  A 
show 
even 
anyt] 
or  dt 

Hi 
altho 

loss  ^ 

deep! 
were 
utmo 
the  s 
rend( 
neigl 


LONGFELLOW   IN   HOME   LIFE. 

BY   ALICE    M.    LONGFELLOW. 

Many  people  are  full  of  poetry  without,  perliapa,  recog- 
nizing it,  because  they  have  no  power  of  expression.  Some 
have,  unfortunately,  full  power  of  expression,  with  no  depth 
or  richness  of  thought  or  character  behind  it.  With  Mr. 
Longfellow,  there  was  complete  unity  and  harmony  between 
his  life  and  character  and  the  outward  manifestation  of  this 
in  his  poetry.  It  was  not  worked  out  from  his  brain,  but 
was  the  blossoming  of  his  inward  life. 

His  nature  was  tlioroughly  poetic  and  rhythmical,  full  of 
delicate  fancies  and  thoughts.  Even  the  ordinary  details 
of  existence  were  invested  with  charm  and  thouffhtf ulness. 
There  was  really  no  line  of  demarcation  between  his  life 
and  his  poetry.  One  blended  into  the  other,  and  his  daily 
life  was  poetry  in  its  truest  sense.  The  rhythmical  quality 
showed  itself  in  an  exact  order  and  method,  running  through 
every  detail.  This  was  not  the  precision  of  a  martinet ;  but 
anything  out  of  place  distressed  him,  as  did  a  faulty  rhyme 
or  defective  metre. 

His  library  was  carefully  arranged  by  subjects,  and, 
although  no  catalogue  was  ever  made,  he  was  never  at  a 
loss  where  to  look  for  any  needed  volume.  His  books  were 
deeply  beloved  and  tenderly  handled.  Beautiful  biudings 
were  a  great  delight,  and  the  leaves  were  cut  with  the 
utmost  care  and  neatness.  Letters  and  bills  were  kept  in 
the  same  orderly  manner.  The  latter  were  paid  as  soon  as 
rendered,  and  he  always  personally  attended  to  those  in  the 
neighborhood.    An  unpaid  bill  weighed  on  him  like  a  night- 


i  1 


1% 


i: 


1,1 


ii 


^1 


1^1 


■  1  n 


n 

M 


xxxviii     HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

mare.  Letters  were  answered  clay  by  day,  as  they  accumu- 
lated, although  it  became  often  a  weary  task.  He  never 
failed,  I  think,  to  kee})  his  account  books  accurately,  and  he 
also  used  to  keep  the  bank  books  of  the  servants  in  his 
employment,  and  to  help  them  with  their  accounts. 

Consideration  and  thoughtfulness  for  others  were  strong 
characteristics  with  Mr.  Longfellow.  He,  indeed,  carried  it 
too  far,  and  became  almost  a  prey  to  those  he  used  to  call 
the  "  total  strangers,"  whose  demands  for  time  and  help  were 
constant.  Fortunately  he  was  able  to  extract  much  interest 
and  entertainment  from  the  different  types  of  humanity  that 
were  always  coming  on  one  pretext  or  another,  and  his 
genuine  sympathy  awC  quick  sense  of  humor  saved  the  situ- 
ation from  becoming  too  wearing.  This  constant  drain  was, 
however,  very  great.  His  ^selfishness  and  courtesy  pre- 
vented him  from  showing  the  weariness  of  spirit  he  often 
felt,  and  many  valuable  hours  were  taken  out  of  his  life  by 
those  with  no  claim,  and  no  appreciation  of  what  they  were 
doing. 

In  addition  to  the  "  total  strang;ers  "  was  a  long  line  of 
applicants  for  aid  of  every  kind.  ''  His  house  was  known 
to  all  the  vagrant  train,"  and  to  all  he  was  equally  genial 
and  kind.  There  was  no  change  of  voice  or  manner  in 
talking  with  the  humblest  member  of  society  ;  and  I  am 
inclined  to  think  the  friendly  chat  in  Italian  with  the  organ- 
grinder  and  the  little  old  woman  peddler,  or  the  discussions 
with  the  old  Irish  gardener,  were  quite  as  full  of  pleasure  as 
more  important  conversations  with  travelers  from  Europe. 

One  habit  Mr.  Longfellow  always  kept  up.  Whenever 
he  saw  in  a  newspaper  any  pleasant  notice  of  friends  or 
acquaintances,  a  review  of  a  book,  or  a  subject  in  which 
they  were  interested,  he  cut  it  out,  and  kept  the  scraps  in 
an  envelope  addressed  to  the  person,  and  mailed  them  when 
several  had  accumulated. 

He  was  a  great  foe  to  procrastination,  and  believed  in 
attending  to  everything  without  delay.     In  connection  with 


HOME  LIFE. 


XXXIX 


this  I  may  say,  that  when  he  accepted  the  invitation  of  his 
classmates  to  deliver  a  poem  at  Bowdoin  College  on  the 
fiftieth  anniversary  of  their  graduation,  he  at  once  devoted 
himself  to  the  work,  and  the  poem  was  finished  several 
months  before  the  time.  Durinfr  these  months  he  was  ill 
with  severe  neuralgia,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  this  habit 
of  early  preparation  the  poem  would  probably  never  have 
been  written  or  delivered. 

Society  and  hospitality  meant  something  quite  real  to  Mr. 
Longfellow.  I  cannot  remember  that  there  were  ever  any 
formal  or  obligatory  occasions  of  entertainment.  All  who 
came  were  made  welcome  without  any  special  preparation, 
and  without  any  thought  of  personal  inconvenience. 

Mr.  Longfellow's  knowledge  of  foreign  languages  brought 
to  him  travelers  from  every  country,  —  not  only  literary 
men,  but  public  men  and  women  of  every  kind,  and,  during 
the  stormy  days  of  European  politics,  great  numbers  of  for- 
eign patriots  exiled  for  their  liberal  opinions.  As  one  Eng- 
lishman pleasantly  remarked,  "  There  are  no  ruins  in  your 
country  to  see,  Mr.  Longfellow,  and  so  we  thought  we  would 
come  to  see  you." 

Mr.  Longfellow  was  a  true  lover  of  peace  in  every  way, 
and  held  war  in  absolute  abhorrence,  as  well  as  the  taking 
of  life  in  any  form.  He  was  strongly  opposed  to  capital 
punishment,  and  was  filled  with  indignation  at  the  idea  of 
men  finding  sport  in  hunting  and  killing  dumb  animals. 
At  the  same  time  he  was  quickly  stirred  by  "ny  story  of 
wrong  and  oppression,  and  ready  to  give  a  full  measure  of 
help  and  sympatny  to  any  one  struggling  for  freedom  and 
liberty  of  thought  and  action. 

With  political  life,  as  such,  Mr.  Longfellow  was  not  in 
full  sympathy,  in  spite  of  his  life-long  friendship  with 
Charles  Sumner.  That  is  to  say,  the  principles  involved 
deeply  interested  him,  but  the  methods  displeased  him.  He 
felt  that  the  intense  absorption  in  one  line  of  thought  pre- 
vented a  full  development,  and  was  an  enemy  to  many  of 


m 


\i 


xl         HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

the  most  beautiful  and  important  things  in  life.  He  consid- 
ered that  his  part  was  to  cast  his  weight  witli  what  seemed 
to  him  the  best  elements  in  public  life,  and  he  never  omitted 
the  duty  of  ex])ressing  his  opinion  by  his  vote.  He  always 
went  to  the  polls  the  first  thing  in  the  morning  on  election 
day,  and  let  nothing  interfere  with  this.  He  used  to  say 
laughingly  that  he  still  belonged  to  the  Federalists. 

Mr.  Longfellow  came  to  Cambridge  to  live  in  1837,  when 
he  was  thirty  years  old.  He  was  at  that  time  professor 
of  literature  in  Harvard  College,  and  occupied  two  rooms 
in  the  old  house  then  owned  hy  the  widow  Craigie,  formerly 
Washington's  Headquarters.  In  this  same  old  house  he 
passed  the  remainder  of  his  life,  being  absent  only  one  year 
in  foreign  travel.  Home  had  great  attractions  for  him.  He 
cared  more  for  tiie  quiet  and  repose,  the  companionship  of 
his  friends  and  books,  than  for  the  fatigues  and  adventures 
of  new  scenes.  Many  of  the  friends  of  his  youth  were  the 
friends  of  old  age,  and  to  them  his  house  was  always  open 
with  a  warm  welcome. 

Mr.  Longfellow  was  always  full  of  reserve,  and  never 
talked  much  about  liimself  or  his  work,  even  to  his  family. 
Sometimes  a  volume  would  appear  in  print,  without  his  hav- 
ing mentioned  its  preparation.  In  spite  of  his  general  inter- 
est in  people,  only  a  few  came  really  close  to  his  life.  With 
these  he  was  alwaj's  glad  to  go  over  the  early  days  passed 
together,  and  to  consult  with  them  about  literary  work. 

The  lines  descriptive  of  the  Student  in  the  Wayside  Inn 
might  apply  to  Mr.  Longfellow  as  well :  — 

"  A  youth  was  there,  of  quiet  ways, 
A  Student  of  old  books  and  days, 
To  whom  all  tongues  and  lands  were  known, 
And  yet  a  lover  of  his  own ; 
With  many  a  social  virtue  graced, 
And  yet  a  friend  of  solitude  ; 
A  man  of  such  a  genial  mood 
The  heart  of  all  things  he  embraced, 
And  yet  of  such  fastidious  taste, 
He  never  found  the  best  too  good." 


0 

i: 


V. 

e  consid- 
:  seemed 
'  omitted 
e  always 
election 
1  to  say 

J7,  when 
u'ofessor 
'o  rooms 
formerly 
louse  he 
)ne  year 
im.  He 
nship  of 
v^entures 
v^ere  the 
lys  open 


d  never 
family, 
his  hav- 
al  inter- 
s.  With 
i  passed 
►rk. 
ide  Inn 


if. 
m 


I -a 
I  r 

!"l 


i 


V 


rue  MiTTHEWB-NOITMHU^eO^PUfFAtO.  N    Y 


iS;J-^ 


■^  .  .,^^^ 


EVANGELINE:   A  TALE  OF   ACADIE. 

HISTORICAL    INTKODUtJTION, 

The  country  now  known  as  Nova  Seotia,  and  called 
formerly  Acadie  by  the  French,  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
French  and  English  by  turns  until  the  year  1713,  when,  by 
the  Peace  of  Utrecht,  it  was  ceded  by  France  to  Great  Brit- 
ain, and  has  ever  since  renniined  in  the  possession  of  the 
English.  But  in  1713  the  inhabitants  of  the  peninsula  were 
mostly  French  farmers  and  fishermen,  living  about  Minas 
Basin  and  on  Annapolis  Ri\  er,  and  the  English  government 
exercised  only  a  nominal  control  over  them.  It  was  not  till 
1749  that  the  English  themselves  began  to  make  settlements 
in  the  country,  and  that  year  they  laid  the  foundations  of 
the  town  of  Halifax.  A  jealousy  soon  sprang  up  between 
the  Enjrl  .sh  and  French  settlers,  which  was  deepened  by  the 
great  conflict  which  was  impending  between  the  two  mother 
countries ;  for  the  treaty  of  peace  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  in 
1748,  which  confirmed  the  English  title  to  Nova  Scotia,  was 
scarcely  more  than  a  truce  between  the  two  powers  which 
had  been  struggling  for  ascendency  during  the  beginning 
of  the  century.  The  French  engaged  in  a  long  controversy 
with  the  English  respecting  the  boundaries  of  Acadie,  which 
had  been  defined  by  the  treaties  in  somewhat  general  terms, 
and  intrigues  were  carried  on  with  the  ^ndians,  who  were 
generally  in  sympathy  with  the  French,  for  the  annoyance 
of  the  English  cettlers.  The  Acadians  were  allied  to  the 
French  by  blood  and  by  religion,  but  they  claimed  to  have 
the  rights  of    neutrals,  and  that  these   rights   had   been 


I 


i:; 

%  ii  i' 

■i 

1 

•j  H 

p 

■  ,1 

2 


EVANGELINE. 


granted  to  them  by  previous  Enyli.sh  officers  of  tlie  crown. 
The  one  point  of  special  dispute  was  the  oath  of  allegiance 
demanded  of  the  Acadians  by  the  En^disli.  This  tliey  re- 
fused to  take,  except  in  a  form  modi  lied  to  excuse  them 
from  bearing  arms  against  the  French.  The  demand  was 
repeatedly  made,  and  evaded  with  constant  ingenuity  and 
persistency.  Most  of  the  Acadians  were  probably  simple- 
nnnded  and  peaceful  people,  who  desired  only  to  live  undis- 
turbed upon  their  farms  ;  but  there  were  some  restless  spii^ 
its,  especially  among  the  young  men,  who  compromised  the 
reputation  of  the  connnunity,  and  all  were  very  much  under 
the  induence  of  their  priests,  some  of  whom  made  no  secret 
of  their  bitter  hostility  to  the  English,  and  of  their  deter- 
mination to  use  every  means  to  be  rid  of  them. 

As  the  Elnglish  interests  grew  and  the  critical  relations 
between  the  two  countries  approached  open  warfare,  the 
question  of  how  to  deal  with  the  Acadian  problem  became 
the  commanding  one  of  the  colony.  There  were  some  who 
coveted  the  rich  farms  of  the  Acadians  ;  there  were  some 
who  were  inspired  by  religious  hatred  ;  but  the  prevailing 
spirit  was  one  of  fear  for  themselves  from  the  near  presence 
of  a  community  which,  calling  itself  neutral,  might  at  any 
time  offer  a  convenient  ground  for  hostile  attack.  Yet  to 
require  these  people  to  withdraw  to  Canada  or  Louisburg 
would  be  to  strengthen  the  hands  of  the  French,  and  make 
these  neutrals  determined  enemies.  The  colony  finally  re- 
solved, without  consulting  the  home  government,  to  remove 
the  Acadians  to  other  parts  of  North  America,  distributing 
them  through  the  colonies  in  such  a  way  as  to  preclude  any 
concert  amongst  the  scattered  families  by  which  they  should 
return  to  Acadia.  To  do  this  required  quick  and  secret 
preparations.  There  were  at  the  service  of  the  English 
governor  a  number  of  New  England  troops,  brought  thither 
for  the  capture  of  the  forts  lying  in  the  debatable  land  about 
the  head  of  the  Bay  of  Fundy.  These  were  under  the  com- 
mand of  Lieutenant-Colonel  John  Winslow,  of  Massachu- 


e  crown. 

Ik'gianco 

they  re- 

so  them 

and  was 

lity  and 

simple- 

e  undis- 

ess  sjjii'- 

ised  the 

ih  under 

10  secret 

V  deter- 

•elations 
are,  the 
became 
me  who 
re  some 
evailing 
presence 
at  any 
Yet  to 
)uisburg 
id  make 
lally  re- 
remove 
[•ibuting 
ide  any 
'  should 
.  secret 
English 
thither 
1  about 
le  com- 
ssachu- 


k 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW.  8 

setts,  a  great-grandson  of  Governor  Edward  Winslow,  of 
Plynioutii,  and  to  this  gentleman  and  Captain  Alexander 
Murray  was  intrusted  the  task  of  removal.  They  were  in- 
structed to  use  stratagem,  if  j)ossibk',  to  bring  together  the 
various  families,  but  to  prevent  any  from  escaping  to  the 
woods.  On  the  lid  of  September,  175."),  Winslow  issued  a 
written  order,  addressed  to  the  inhabitants  of  Grand-Pr^, 
Minas,  River  Canard,  etc.,  "  as  well  ancient  as  young  men 
and  lads,"  —  a  proclamation  sunnnoning  all  the  males  to 
attend  him  in  the  church  at  Grand-Pre  on  the  5th  instant, 
to  hear  a  comnmnication  which  the  governor  had  sent.  As 
there  had  been  negotiations  respecting  the  oath  of  allegiance, 
and  nuich  discussion  as  to  the  withdrawal  of  the  Acadians 
from  the  country,  thougli  none  as  to  their  removal  and  dis- 
persal, it  was  understood  that  this  was  an  important  meet- 
ing, and  upon  the  dii}  named  four  hundred  and  eighteen 
men  and  boys  assembled  in  the  church.  Winslow,  attended 
by  his  ollicers  and  men,  caused  a  guard  to  be  placed  round 
tlie  church,  and  then  announced  to  the  peoi)le  his  majesty's 
decision  that  they  were  to  be  removed  with  their  families 
out  of  the  country.  The  church  became  at  once  a  guard- 
house, and  all  the  prisoners  were  under  strict  surveillance. 
At  the  same  time  similar  plans  had  been  arried  out  at  Pisi- 
quid  under  Captain  Murray,  and  less  successfully  at  Chig- 
necto.  Meanwhile  there  were  whispers  of  a  rising  among 
the  prisoners,  and  although  the  transports  which  had  been 
ordered  from  Boston  had  not  yet  arrived,  it  was  determined 
to  make  use  of  the  vessels  which  had  conveyed  the  troops, 
and  remove  the  men  to  these  for  safer  keeping.  This  was 
done  on  the  10th  of  September,  and  the  men  remained  on 
the  vessels  in  the  harbor  until  the  arrival  of  the  transports, 
when  these  were  made  use  of,  and  about  three  thousand 
souls  sent  out  of  the  country  to  North  Carolina,  Virginia, 
Maryland,  Pennsylvania,  New  York,  Connecticut,  and  Mas- 
sachusetts. Jn  the  haste  and  confusion  of  sending  them  off, 
—  a  haste  which  was  increased  by  the  anxiety  of  the  offi- 


t 


II 


i   ! 


EVANGELINE, 


\  i\ 


'I  ^ 


cers  to  be  rid  of  the  distasteful  business,  and  a  confusion 
which  was  greater  from  the  difference  of  tongues,  —  many 
families  were  separated,  and  some  at  least  never  came  to- 
gether again. 

The  story  of  Ev'^.ngeline  is  the  story  of  such  a  separation. 
The  removal  of  the  Acadians  was  a  blot  upon  the  govern- 
ment of  Nova  Scotia  and  upon  that  of  Great  Britain,  which 
never  disowned  the  deed,  although  it  was  probably  done 
without  direct  permission  or  command  from  England.  It 
proved  to  be  unnecessary,  but  it  must  also  be  remembered 
that  to  many  men  at  that  time  the  English  power  seemed 
trembling  before  France,  and  that  the  colony  at  Halifax 
regarded  the  act  as  one  of  self-preservation. 

The  authorities  for  an  historical  inquiry  into  this  subject 
are  best  seen  in  a  volume  published  by  the  government  of 
Nova  Scotia  at  Halifax  in  1869,  entitled  Selections  from 
the  Public  Documents  of  the  Frovince  of  Nova  Scotia^ 
edited  by  Thomas  B.  Akins,  D.  C.  L.,  Commissioner  of 
Public  Records  ;,  arrl  in  a  manuscript  journal  kept  b}*  Col- 
onel Winslow,  nov.  in  the  cabinet  of  the  Massachusetts  His- 
torical Society  in  B  :.3ton.  At  the  State  House  in  Boston 
are  two  volumes  of  records,  entitled  French  Neutrals,  wliich 
contain  voluminous  papers  relating  to  the  treatment  of  the 
Acadians  who  were  sent  to  Massachusetts.  Probably  the 
work  used  by  the  poet  in  writing  Evangeli7ie  was  An  His- 
torical and  Statistical  Account  of  Nova  Scotia,  by  Thomas 
C.  Haliburton,  who  is  best  known  as  the  author  of  The  Clock- 
Maker,  or  The  Sayings  and  Doings  of  Samuel  Slick  of 
Slickville,  a  book  which,  written  apparently  to  prick  the 
Nova  Scotians  into  more  enterprise,  was  for  a  long  while  the 
chief  representative  of  Yankee  smartness.  Judge  Halibur- 
ton's  history  was  published  in  1829.  A  later  history,  which 
takes  advantage  more  freely  of  historical  documents,  is  A 
History  of  Nova  Scotia,  or  Acadie,  by  Beamish  Murdock, 
Esq.,  Q.  C,  Halifax,  1866.  Still  more  recent  is  a  smaller, 
weU-written  work,  entitled  The  History  of  Acadia  from  its 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EVANGELINE. 


confusion 
—  many 
came  to- 


paration. 

govern- 

n,  which 

bly  done 

and.     It 

embered 

seemed 

Halifax 

s  subject 
ment  of 
ns  from 
jScotia, 
ioner  of 
b^  Col- 
tts  His- 
Boston 
s,  wliich 
t  of  the 
bly  the 
fi  Ilis- 
?homas 
Clock- 
lick  of 
ick  the 
lile  the 
'alibur- 
which 
s,  is  A 
irdock, 
mailer, 
'om  its 


First  Discovery  to  its  Surrender  to  England  hy  the  Treaty 
of  Paris,  by  James  Hannay,  St.  John,  N.  B.,  1879.  W.  J. 
Anderson  published  a  paper  in  the  Transactions  of  the  Lit- 
erary and  Historical  Society  of  Quebec,  New  Series,  part  7, 
1870,  entitled  Evangeline  and  the  Archives  of  Nova  Sco- 
tia, in  which  he  examines  the  poem  by  the  light  of  the  vol- 
ume of  Nova  Scotia  Archives,  edited  by  T.  B.  Akins.  The 
sketches  of  travellers  in  Nova  Scotia,  as  Acadia,  or  a  Month 
among  the  Blue  Noses,  by  F.  S.  Cozzens,  and  Baddeck,  by 
C.  D.  Warner,  give  the  present  appearance  of  the  country 
and  inhabitants. 

HISTORY   OF   THE   POEM. 

The  origin  of  the  tale  brings  out  one  of  those  iiiteresting 
incidents  of  the  relations  of  authors  toward  each  other  which 
happily  are  not  uncommon.  In  Hawthorne's  Americatu 
Note-Books,  under  date  of  October  24,  1838,  occurs  this 

paragraph :  "  H.  L.  C heard  from  a  French  Canadian 

a  story  of  a  young  couple  in  Acadie.  On  their  marriage 
day,  all  the  men  of  the  province  were  summoned  to  assem- 
ble in  the  church  to  hear  a  proclamation.  When  assem- 
bled, they  were  all  seized  and  shipped  off  to  be  distributed 
through  New  England,  among  them  the  new  bridegroom. 
His  bride  set  off  in  search  of  him,  wandered  about  New 
England  all  her  life-time,  and  at  last,  when  she  was  old, 
she  found  her  bridegroom  on  his  death-bed.  The  shock 
was  so  great  that  it  killed  her  likewise." 

It  may  have  been  the  same  H.  L.  C.  who  dined  with 
Hawthorne  at  Mr.  Longfellow's  one  day,  and  told  the  poet 
that  he  had  been  trying  to  persuade  Hawthorne  to  wTite  a 
story  on  this  theme.  Hawthorne  said  he  could  not  see  in 
it  the  material  for  a  tale,  but  Longfellow  at  once  caught  at 
it  as  the  suggestion  for  a  poem.  "  Give  it  to  me,"  he  said, 
"  and  promise  that  you  will  not  write  about  it  until  I  have 
written  the  poem."  Hawthorne  readily  consented,  and 
when  Evangeline  -appeared  was  as  quick  to  give  expression 


i 


11 


i 


6 


HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


■1  ■  , 


0- 


;    1 


,^  \ 


to   his   admiration 
Twice- Told  Tales. 


as  the  poet  had  been  in  reviewing 
He  wrote  to  Longfellow  and  sent  him 
a  copy  of  a  Salem  newspaper  in  which  he  had  noticed 
Euangeline.     Longfellow  replied  :  — 


My  dear  Hawthorne,  —  I  have  beon  waiting  and  waiting 
in  the  hope  of  seeing  you  in  Cambridge.  ...  I  have  been  medi- 
tating upon  your  letter,  and  pondering  with  friendly  admiration 
your  review  of  Evangeline,  in  connection  with  the  subject  of 
which,  that  is  to  say,  the  Acadians,  a  literary  project  arises  in 
my  mind  for  you  to  execute.  Perhaps  I  can  pay  you  back  in 
part  your  own  generous  gift,  by  giving  you  a  theme  for  story 
in  return  for  a  theme  for  soiig.  It  is  neither  more  nor  less  than 
the  history  of  the  Acadians  after  their  expulsion  as  well  as  before. 
Felton  has  been  making  some  researches  in  the  state  archives, 
and  offers  to  resign  the  documents  into  your  hands. 

Pray  come  and  see  me  about  it  without  delay.  Come  so  as  to 
pass  a  night  with  us,  if  possible,  this  week,  if  not  a  day  and 
night.    Ever  sincerely  yours,  Henry  W.  Longfellow. 

The  poet  never  visited  the  scenes  of  his  poem,  though 
travellers  have  testified  to  the  accuracy  of  the  portraiture. 
"  I  have  never  been  in  Nova  Scotia,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend. 
"  As  far  as  I  remember,  the  authorities  I  mostly  relied  on  in 
writing  Evangeline  were  the  Abb^  Raynal  and  Mr.  Hali- 
burton :  the  first  for  the  pastoral,  simple  life  of  the  Aca- 
dians ;  the  second  for  the  history  of  their  banishment." 
He  gave  to  a  Philadelphia  journalist  a  reminiscence  of  his 
first  thought  of  the  material  which  forms  the  conclusion  of 
the  poem.  "  I  was  passing  down  Spruce  Street  one  day 
toward  my  hotel,  after  a  walk,  when  my  attention  was  at- 
tracted to  a  large  building  with  beautiful  trees  about  it, 
inside  of  a  high  inclosure.  I  walked  along  until  I  came  to 
the  great  gate,  and  then  stepped  inside,  and  looked  care- 
fully over  the  place.  The  charming  picture  of  lawn,  flower- 
beds, and  shade  which  it  presented  made  an  impression 
which  has  never  left  me,  and  when  I  came  to  write  Evange- 
line I  placed  the  final  scene,  the  meeting  between  Evangeline 


V. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EVANGELINE. 


■eviewing 
sent  him 
I  noticed 


d  wPiiting 
een  medi- 
clmiration 
ubject  of 
arises  in 
I  back  in 
for  story- 
less  than 
as  before, 
archives, 

e  so  as  to 
day  and 

KLLOW. 

I,  though 
'traiture. 
a  friend, 
ied  on  in 
Ir.  Hali- 
he  Aca- 
ihment." 
le  of  his 
usion  of 
one  day 
was  at- 
ibout  it, 
came  to 
Bd  care- 
,  flower- 
pression 
Evange' 
ingeline 


and  Gabriel  and  the  death,  at  the  poor-house,  and  the  burial 
in  an  old  Catholic  grave-yard  not  far  away,  which  I  found 
by  chance  in  another  of  my  walks." 

The  poem  made  its  way  at  once  into  the  hearts  of  people. 
Faed,  an  English  artist,  painted  a  picture  of  iCvangeline, 
taken  from  the  face  of  a  Manchester  working-girl,  which 
his  brother  engraved,  and  the  picture  became  a  great  favor- 
ite on  both  continents. 

THE   MEASURE. 

The  measure  of  Evangeline  is  what  is  commonly  known 
as  English  dactylic  hexameter.  The  hexameter  is  the  mea- 
sure used  by  Homer  in  the  Iliad  and  the  Odgsseij,  and  by 
Virgil  in  the  jJ^neid,  but  the  difference  between  the  Eng- 
lish language  and  the  Latin  or  Greek  is  so  great,  especially 
when  we  consider  that  in  English  poetry  every  word  must 
be  accented  according  to  its  customary  pronunciation,  while 
in  scanning  Greek  and  Latin  verse  accent  follows  the  quan- 
tity of  the  vowels,  that  in  applying  this  term  of  hexame- 
ter to  Evangeline  it  must  not  be  supposed  by  the  reader 
that  he  is  getting  the  effect  of  Greek  hexameters.  It  is  the 
Greek  hexameter  translated  into  English  use,  and  some 
have  n  intained  that  the  verse  of  the  Iliad  is  better  repre- 
sented in  the  English  by  the  trochaic  measure  of  fifteen  syl- 
lables, of  which  an  excellent  illustration  is  in  Tennyson's 
Locksley  Hall ;  others  have  compared  tlie  Greek  hexameter 
to  the  ballad  metre  of  fourteen  syllables,  used  notably  by 
Chapn:an  in  his  translation  of  Homer's  Iliad.  The  mea- 
sure adopted  by  Mr.  Longfellow  lias  never  become  very 
popular  in  English  poetry,  but  has  repeatedly  been  at- 
tempted by  other  poets.  The  reader  will  find  the  subject 
of  hexameters  discussed  by  Matthew  Arnold  in  his  lectures 
On  Translating  Homer  ;  by  James  Spedding  in  English 
Hexameters,  in  his  recent  volume.  Reviews  and  Discns- 
sions,  Literary.,  Political  and  Historical,  not  relating  to 
Bacon ;  and  by  John  Stuart  Blackie  in  Remarks  on  Eng- 


i; 


II 


ti 


U 


I 


^,■1 


8 


HENRY   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


lish  Hexameters,  contained  in  his  volume  HorcB  HelleniccB. 
The  publication  of  Evangeline  had  much  to  do  with  the 
revival  of  the  use  of  the  hexameter  in  English  poetry, 
notably  by  Arthur  Hugh  Clough,  who  employed  it  with 
great  skill  in  his  pastoral  poem  of  the  Bothie  of  Tober-nor 
Vuolich.  In  a  letter  to  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  Clough 
writes,  "  Will  you  convey  to  Mr.  Longfellow  the  fact  that 
it  was  a  reading  of  hi  Evangeline  aloud  o  my  mother 
and  sister,  which,  coming  after  a  reperusai  of  the  Iliad, 
occasioned  this  outbreak  of  hexameters  ?  " 

The  measure  lends  itself  easily  to  the  lingering  melan- 
choly which  marks  the  greater  part  of  the  poem,  and  tb** 
poet's  fine  sense  of  harmony  between  subject  and  form  i^ 
rarely  better  shown  than  in  this  poem.  The  fall  of  the 
verse  at  the  end  of  the  line  and  the  sharp  recovery  at  the 
b'3gmning  of  the  next  will  be  snares  to  the  reader,  who 
must  beware  of  a  jeiking  style  of  delivery.  The  voice  nat- 
urally seeks  a  rest  in  the  middle  of  the  line,  and  this  rest, 
or  csesural  pause,  should  be  carefully  regarded ;  a  little 
practice  will  enable  one  to  acquire  that  habit  of  reading  the 
hexameter,  which  we  may  liken,  roughly,  to  the  climbing  of 
a  hill,  resting  a  moment  on  the  summit,  and  then  descend- 
ing the  other  side.  The  charm  in  reading  EvangeliM 
aloud,  after  a  clear  understanding  of  the  sense,  which  is  the 
essential  in  all  good  reading,  is  found  in  this  gentle  labor  of 
the  former  half  of  the  line,  and  gentle  acceleration  of  the 
latter  half. 


^ow. 


HelleniccB. 
do  with  the 
lish  poetry, 
yed  it  with 
)/  Tober-na- 
son,  Clough 
le  fact  that 
my  mother 

the  Iliad, 

•ing  melan- 
in, and  th** 
nd  form  ij 
fall  of  the 
i^ery  at  the 
eader,  who 
J  voice  nat- 
i  this  rest, 
1;  a  little 
•eading  the 
ilimhing  of 
n  descend- 

hich  is  the 
le  labor  of 
ion  of  the 


EVANGELINE. 

PRELUDE. 

This  is  «he  forest  primeval.  The  murmuring  pines 
and  the  hemlocks, 

Bearded  with  moss,  and  in  garments  green,  indistinct 
in  the  twilight. 

Stand  like  Druids  of  eld,  with  voices  sad  and  pro- 
phetic, 

1.  A  primeval  forest  is,  strictly  speaking,  one  which  Las  never 
been  disturbed  by  the  axe.  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  remark- 
ing on  this  opening  of  the  poem,  says  :  "  From  the  first  line  of 
the  poem,  from  its  first  words,  we  read  as  we  would  float  down 
a  broad  and  placid  river,  murmuring  softly  against  its  banks, 
heaven  over  it,  and  the  glory  of  the  unspoiled  wilderness  all 
around. 

"  '  This  is  the  forest  primeval.' 
The  words  are  already  as  familiar  as 

Mrjf  (1/  aeifie  Bed, 

OJ? 

Arma  virumque  cano. 

The  hexameter  has  been  often  criticised,  but  I  do  not  believe 
any  other  measure  could  have  told  that  lovely  story  with  such 
effect  as  we  feel  when  carried  along  the  tranquil  current  of 
these  brimming,  slow-moving,  soul-satisfying  lines.  Imagine 
for  one  moment  a  story  like  this  minced  into  octosyllabics.  The 
poet  knows  better  than  his  critics  the  length  of  step  which  best 
fits  his  muse." 

3.  Druids  were  priests  of  the  Celtic  inhabitants  of  ancient 
Gaid  and  Britain.  The  name  was  probably  of  Celtic  origin,  but 
its  form  may  have  been  determined  by  the  Greek  word  driis,  an 
oak,  sinc3  their  places  of  worship  were  consecrated  groves  of 
oak.  Perhaps  the  choice  of  the  image  was  governed  by  the 
analogy  of  a  religion  and  tribe  that  were  to  disappear  before  a 
stronger  power, 


Hi 


10 


HENRY  WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Li5 


Stand  like  harpers  hoar,  with  beards  that  rest  on  their 
bosoms. 

Loud  from  its  rocky  caverns,  the  deep-voiced  neigh- 
boring ocean  5 

Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the  wail 
of  the  forest. 

This  is  the  forest  primeval;  but  where  are  the 
hearts  that  beneath  it 

Leaped  like  the  roe,  when  he  hears  in  ih*?  woodland 
the  voice  of  the  huntsman  ? 

Where  is  the  thatch-roofed  village,  the  home  of  Aca- 
dian farmers,  — 

Men  whose  lives  glided  on  like  rivers  that  water  the 
woodlands,  10 

Darkened  by  shadows  of  earth,  but  reflecting  an  image 
of  heaven  ? 

Waste  are  those  pleasant  farms,  and  the  farmers  for- 
ever departed ! 

Scattered  like  dust  and  leaves,  when  the  mighty  blasts 
of  October 

Seize  them,  and  whirl  them  aloft,  and  sprinkle  them 
far  o'er  the  ocean. 

Naught  but  tradition  remains  of  the  beautiful  village 
of  Grand-Pre.  u 


'i  '  U 


Ye  who  believe  in  affection  that  hopes,  and  endures, 
and  is  patient, 

4.  A  poetical  description  of  an  ancient  Iiarper  will  be  found 
in  the  Introduction  to  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  by  Sir  Walter 
Scott. 

8.  Observe  how  the  tragedy  of  the  story  is  anticipated  by  this 
picture  of  the  startled  roe. 


I 


ow. 

it  on  their 
;ed  neigh- 
s  the  wail 


EVANGELINE. 


11 


Ye  who  believe  in  the  beauty  and  strength  of  woman's 

devotion, 
List  to  the  mournful  tradition  still  sung  by  the  pines 

of  the  forest ; 
List  to  a  Tale  of  Love  in  Acadie,  home  of  the  happy. 


i  are  the 
woodland 
e  of  Aca- 
water  the 

10 

an  image 
mers  for- 
ity  blasts 
kle  them 
il  village 

16 

endures. 


be  found 
sir  Walter 

ed  by  this 


PART  THE  FIRST. 


I. 


!■ 


In  the  Acadian  land,  on  the  shores  of  the  Basin  of 

Minas,  20 

Distant,  secluded,  still,  the  little  village  of  Grand-Pre 
Lay  in  the  fruitful  valley.     Vast  meadows  stretched 

to  the  eastward, 
Giving  the  village  its  name,  and  pasture  to  flocks 

without  number. 
Dikes,  that  the  hands  of  the  farmers  had  raised  with 

labor  incessant, 

19.  In  the  earliest  records  Acadie  is  called  Cadie  ;  ii,  after- 
wards was  called  Arcadia,  Accadia,  or  L' Acadie.  The  name  is 
probably  a  French  adaptation  of  a  word  common  among"  the 
Micmac  Indians  living  there,  signifying  place  or  region,  and  used 
as  an  affix  to  other  words  as  indicating  the  place  where  various 
things,  as  cranberries,  eels,  seals,  were  found  in  abundance.  The 
French  turned  this  Indian  terrn  into  Cadie  or  Acadie  ;  the  Eng- 
lish into  Quoddy,  in  which  form  it  remains  when  applied  to  the 
Quoddy  Indians,  to  Quoddy  Head,  the  last  point  of  the  United 
States  next  to  Acadia,  and  in  the  compound  Passamaquoddy,  op 
Pollock-Ground. 

21.  Compare,  for  effect,  the  first  line  of  Goldsmith's  The 
Traveller.  Grand- Prd  will  be  found  on  the  map  as  part  of  the 
township  of  Horton. 

24.  The  people  of  Acadia  are  mainly  the  descendants  of  the 
colonists  who  were  brought  out  to  La  Have  and  Port  Royal  by 
Isaac  de  Razilly  and  Charnisay  between  the  years  1633  and  1C38. 


'  1 


I 


i 


12 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW, 


Shut  out  the  turbulent  tides ;  but  at  stated  seasons  the 

flood-gates  25 

Opened  and  welcomed  the  sea  to  wander  at  will  o'er 

the  meadows. 
West  and  south  there  were  fields  of  flax,  and  orchards 

and  cornfields 
Spreading  afar  and  unfenced  o'er  the  plain ;  and  away 

to  the  northward 
Blomidon  rose,  and  the  forests  old,  and  aloft  on  the 

mountains 
Sea-fogs  pitched  their  tents,  and  mists  from  the  mighty 

Atlantic  30 

Looked  on  the  happy  valley,  but  ne'er  from  their  sta- 
tion descended. 
There,  in  the  midst  of  its  farms,  reposed  the  Acadian 

village. 
Strongly  built  were  the  houses,  with  frames  of  oak  and 

of  hemlock. 
Such  as  the  peasants  of  Normandy  built  in  the  reign 

of  the  Henries. 


I!  \i  k 


These  colonists  came  from  Rochelle,  Saintonge,  and  Poitou,  so 
that  they  were  drawn  from  a  very  limited  area  on  the  west  coast 
of  France,  covered  by  the  modern  departments  of  Vendue  and 
Charente  Infdrieure.  This  circumstance  had  some  influence  on 
their  mode  of  settling  the  lands  of  Acadia,  for  they  came  from  a 
country  of  marshes,  where  the  sea  was  kept  out  by  artificial 
dikes,  and  they  found  in  Acadia  similar  marshes,  which  they  dealt 
with  in  the  same  way  that  they  had  been  accustomed  to  practise 
in  France.  Hannay's  History  of  Acadia,  pp.  282,  283.  An  excel- 
lent account  of  dikes  and  the  flooding  of  lowlands,  as  practised 
in  Holland,  may  be  found  in  A  Farmer^ s  Vacation,  by  George  E. 
Waring,  Jr. 

29.  Blomidon  is  a  mountainous  headland  of  red  sandstone,  sur- 
mounted by  a  perpendicular  wall  of  basaltic  trap,  the  whole  about 
four  hundred  feet  in  height,  at  the  entrance  of  thd  Basin  of 
Miuas. 


ow. 

reasons  the 

25 

it  will  o'er 
d  orchards 
;  and  away 
loft  on  the 
the  mighty 

30 

n  their  star 

le  Acadian 

of  oak  and 

II  the  reign 


nd  Poitou,  so 
he  west  coast 
P  Vendue  and 
influence  on 
came  from  a 
b  by  artificial 
icb  they  dealt 
3d  to  practise 
3.  An  excel- 
,  as  practised 
by  George  E. 

mdstone,  sur- 
B  whole  about 
thd  Basin  of 


EVANGELINE. 


13 


Thatched  were  the  roofs,  with  dormer-windows;  and 
gables  projecting  35 

Over  the  basement  below  protected  and  shaded  the 
doorway. 

There  in  the  tranquil  evenings  of  summer,  when 
brightly  the  sunset 

Lighted  the  village  street,  and  gilded  the  vanes  on  the 
chimneys, 

Matrons  and  maidens  sat  in  snow-white  caps  and  in 
kirtles 

Scarlet  and  blue  and  green,  with  distaffs  spinning  the 
golden  40 

Flax  for  the  gossiping  looms,  whose  noisy  shuttles 
within  doors 

Mingled  their  sound  with  the  v/hir  of  the  wheels  and 
the  songs  of  the  maidons. 

Solemnly  down  the  street  came  the  parish  priest,  and 
the  children 

Paused  in  their  play  to  kiss  the  hand  he  extended  to 
bless  them. 

Reverend  walked  he  among  them ;  and  up  rose  ma- 
trons and  maidens,  45 

Hailing  his  slow  approach  with  words  of  affectionate 
welcome. 

The-i  came  the  laborers  home  from  the  field,  and  se- 
renely the  sun  sank 

36.  The  characteristics  of  a  Normandy  village  may  be  further 
learned  by  reference  to  a  pleasant  little  sketch-book,  published 
a  few  years  since,  called  Normandy  Picturesque,  by  Henry  Black- 
burn, and  to  Through  Normandy,  by  Katharine  S.  Macquoid. 

39.  The  term  kirtle  was  sometimes  applied  to  the  jacket  only, 
sometimes  to  the  train  or  upper  petticoat  attached  to  it.  A  full 
kirtle  was  always  both ;  a  half  kirtle  was  a  term  applied  to 
either.  A  man's  jacket  was  sometimes  called  a  kirtle  ;  here  the 
reference  is  apparently  to  the  full  kirtle  worn  by  women. 


I 


1: 


1    ■:• 


'    ■ 


14        HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Down  to  his  rest,  and  twilight  prevailed.     Anon  from 

the  belfry 
Softly  the  Angelas  sounded,  and  over  th^  roofs  of  the 

village 
Columns  of  pale  blue  smoke,  like  clouds  of  incense 

ascending,  so 

Rose  from  a  hundred  hearths,  the  homes  of  peace  and 

contentment. 
Thus  dwelj  together  in  love  these   simple  Acadian 

farmers,  — 
Dwelt  in  the  love  of  God  and  of  man.     Alike  were 

they  free  from 
Fear,  that  reigns  with  the  tyrant,  and  envy,  the  vice 

of  republics. 
Neither  locks  had  they  to  their  doors,  nor  bars  to  their 

windows ;  fis 

But  their  dwellings  were  open  as  day  and  the  hearts 

of  the  owners ; 
There  the  richest  was  poor,  and  the  poorest  lived  in 

abundance. 

Somewhat  apart  from  the  village,  and  nearer  the 

Basin  of  Minas, 
Benedict    Bellefontaine,    the    wealthiest    farmer    of 

Grand-Pre, 
Dwelt  on  his  goodly  acres ;  and  with  him,  directing 

his  househo  i,  eo 

Gentle  Evangeline  lived,  his  child,  and  the  pride  of 

the  village. 

49.  A  ngelus  Domini  is  the  full  name  given  to  the  bell  which,  at 
morning,  noon,  and  night,  called  the  people  to  prayer,  in  com- 
memoration of  the  visit  of  the  angel  of  the  Lord  to  the  Virgin 
Mary.  It  was  introduced  into  France  in  its  modern  form  in  the 
sixteenth  century. 


;r^ 


non  from 
)fs  of  the 
i  incense 

00 

)eace  and 
Acadian 
like  were 
,  the  vice 
s  to  their 

65 

he  hearts 
t  lived  in 

earer  the 
irmer  of 
directing 

60 

pride  of 


11  which,  at 
er,  in  com- 
the  Virgin 
;orm  in  the 


EVANGELINE, 


15 


Seal  worth  and  stately  in  form  was  the  man  of  seventy 

winters ; 
Hearty  and  halo  was  he,  an  oak  that  is  covered  with 

snow-flakes ; 
White  as  the  snow  were  his  locks,  and  his  cheeks  as 

brown  as  the  oak-leaves. 
Fair  was  she  to  behold,  that  miiiden  of  seventeen  sum- 
mers ;  « 
Black  were  her  eyes  as  the  berry  that  grows  on  the 

thorn  by  the  wayside, 
Black,  yet  how  softly  they  gleamed  beneath  the  brown 

shade  of  her  tresses ! 
Sweet  was  her  breath  as  the  breath  of  kine  that  feed 

in  the  meadows. 
When  in  the  harvest  heat  she  bore  to  the  reapers  at 

noontide 
Flagons  of  home-brewed  ale,  ah !  fair  in  sooth  was  the 

maiden.  to 

Fairer  was  she  when,  on  Sunday  morn,  while  the  bell 

from  its  turret 
Sprinkled  with  hoi}-  sounds  the  air,  as  the  priest  with 

his  hyssop 
Sprinkles  the  congregation,  and  scatters  blessings  upon 

them, 
Down  the  long  street  she  passed,  with  her  chaplet  of 

beads  and  her  missal, 
Wearing  her  Norman  cap  and  her  Idrtle  of  blue,  and 

the  ear-rings  n 

Brought  in  the  olden  time  from  France,  and  since,  as 

an  heirloom, 
Handed  down  from  mother  to  child,  through  long  gen- 
erations. 
But  a  celestial  brightness  —  a  more  ethereal  beauty  — 
Shone  on  her  face  and  encircled  her  form,  when,  after 

confession. 


i 


1 


\i 


ii'ii 


I 


16 


HENRY  WADSWORTU  LONGFELLOW. 


Homeward  serenely  she  walked  with  God's  benedio- 
tioii  upon  her.  n 

When  she  had  passed,  it  seemed  like  the  ceasing  of 
extj[uisite  music. 

Firmly  builded  with  rafters  of  oak,  the  house  of 

the  farmer 
Stood  on  the  side  of  a  hill  commanding  the  sea ;  and 

a  shady 
Sycamore  grew  by  the  door,  with  a  woodbine  wreath- 
ing around  it. 
Rudely  carved  was  the  porch,  with  seats  beneath  ;  and 

a  footpath  sa 

Led  through  an  orchard  wide,  and  disappeared  in  the 

meadow. 
Under  the  sycamore-tree  were  hives  overhung  by  a 

penthouse. 
Such  as  the  traveller  sees  in  regions  remote  by  the 

roadside. 
Built  o'er  a  box  for  the  poor,  or  the  blessed  image  of 

Mary. 
Farther  down,  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  was  the  well 

with  its  moss-grown  so 

Bucket,  fastened  with  iron,  and  near  it  a  trough  for 

the  horses. 
Shielding  the  house  from  storms,  on  the  north,  were 

the  barns  and  the  farm-yard ; 
There  stood  the  broad-wheeled  wains  and  the  antique 

ploughs  and  the  harrows ; 
There  were  the  folds  for  the  sheep ;  and  there,  in  his 

feathered  seraglio, 

93.  The  accent  is  on  the  first  syllable  of  antique,  where  it  re- 
mains in  the  form  antic,  which  once  had  the  same  general  mean- 
ing. 


S| 


EVANGELINE. 


17 


Strutted  the  lordly  turkey,  and  crowed  the  cock,  with 
the  selfsame  sa 

Voice  that  in  ages  of  old  had  startled  the  penitent 
Peter. 

Bursting  with  hay  were  the  barns,  themselves  a  vil- 
lage.    In  each  one 

Far  o'er  the  gable  projected  a  roof  of  thatch  ;  and  a 
staircase, 

Under  the  sheltering  eaves,  led  up  to  the  odorous  corn- 
loft. 

There  too  the  dove-cot  stood,  with  its  meek  and  inno- 
cent inmates  loo 

Murmuring  ever  of  love ;  while  above  in  the  variant 
breezes 

Numberless  noisy  weathercocks  rattled  and  sang  of 
mutation. 


Thus,  at  peace  with  God  and  the  world,  the  farmer 

of  Grand-Pre 
Lived  on  his  sunny  farm,  and  Evangeline  governed 

his  household. 
Many  a  youth,  as  he  knelt  in  the  church  and  opened 

his  missal,  m 

Fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  as  the  saint  of  his  deepest 

devotion ; 

99.  Odorous.     The  accent  here,  as  well  as  in  line  403,  is  upon 

the  first  syllable,  where  it  is  commonly  placed  ;  but  Milton,  who 

of  all  poets  had  the  most  refined  ear,  writes 

*'  So  from  the  root 
Springs  lighter  the  green  stalk,  from  thence  the  leaves 
More  airy,  last  the  bright  consummate  flower 
Spirits  odorous  breathes." 

Par.  Lost,  Book  V.,  lines  479-482. 

But  he  also  uses  the  more  familiar  accent  in  other  passages, 

as,  "  An  amber  scent  of  ddorous  perfume,"  in  Samson  Agonistes, 

line  720. 


i  1 


!;,,■ 


l! 


H 


-  -Uiu-i'-U  ■mil.  jn,_ 


i  >       'it : 


!    ■ 


h 


i 

■ 

I 


' 


I 


4':     „. 
m    s 


is 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Happy  was  he  who  might  touch  her  hand  or  the  hem 
of  her  garment ! 

Many  a  suitor  came  to  her  door,  by  the  darkness  be- 
friended, 

And,  as  he  knocked  and  waited  to  hear  the  sound  of 
her  footsteps, 

Knew  not  which  beat  the  louder,  his  heart  or  the 
knocker  of  iron  ;  no 

Or,  at  the  joyous  feast  of  the  Patron  Saint  of  the  vil- 
lage, 

Bolder  grew,  and  pressed  her  hand  in  the  dance  as  he 
whispered 

Hurried  words  of  love,  that  seemed  a  part  of  the 
music. 

But  among  all  who  came  young  Gabriel  only  was 
welcome ; 

Gabriel  Lajeunesse,  the  son  of  Basil  the  black- 
smith, 115 

Who  was  a  mighty  man  in  the  village,  and  honored 
of  all  men ; 

For  since  the  birth  of  time,  throughout  all  ages  and 
nations. 

Has  the  craft  of  the  smith  been  held  in  repute  by  the 
people. 

Basil  was  Benedict's  friend.  Their  children  from 
earliest  childhood 

Grew  up  together  as  brother  and  sister ;  and  Father 
Felician,  120 

Priest  and  pedagogue  both  in  the  village,  had  taught 
them  their  letters 

Out  of  the  selfsame  book,  with  the  hymns  of  the 
church  and  the  plain-song. 

122.  The  plain-song  is  a  luonotonic  recitative  of  the  collects. 


I 


V         '' 


ow. 

n'  the  hem 
rkness  be- 
sound  of 
irt  or  the 

110 

of  the  vil- 

ance  as  he 

irt  of  the 

only  was 

le    black- 
US 
i  honored 

ages  and 

ute  by  the 

Iren  from 

nd  Father 

120 

ad  taught 
Qs  of  the 
e  collects. 


EVANGELINE. 


19 


But  when  the  hymn  was  surg,  and  the  daily  lesson 

completed, 
Swiftly  they  hurried  away  to  the  forge  of  Basil  the 

blacksmith. 
There  at  the  door  they  stood,  with  wondering  eyes  to 

behold  him  125 

Take  in  his  leathern  lap  the  hoof  of  the  horse  as  a 

plaything. 
Nailing  the  shoe  in  its  place  ;  while  near  him  the  tire 

of  the  cart-wheel 
Lay  like  a  fiery  snake,  coiled  round  in  a  circle  of 

cinders. 
Oft  on  autumnal  eves,  when  without  in  the  gathering 

darkness 
Bursting  with  light  seemed  the  smithy,  through  every 

cranny  and  crevice,  130 

Warm  by  the  forge  within  they  watched  the  laboring 

bellows, 
And  as  its  panting  ceased,  and  the  sparks  expired  in 

the  ashes. 
Merrily  laughed,  and  said  they  were  nuns  going  into 

the  chapel. 
Oft  on  sledges  in  winter,  as  swift  as  the  swoop  of  the 

eagle, 
Down  the  hillside  bounding,  they  glided  away  o'er  the 

meadow.  135 

Oft  in  the  barns  they  climbed  to  the  populous  nests 

on  the  rafters, 
Seeking  with  eager  eyes  that  wondrous  stone,  which 

the  swallow 
Brings  from  the  shore  of  the  sea  to  restore  the  sight 

of  its  fledglings ; 

133.  The  French  have  another  saying  similar  to  this,  that  they 
were  guests  going  into  the  wedding. 


^  4 


1.1 


M        HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Lucky  was  he  who  found  that  stone  in  the  nest  of  the 

swallow ! 
Thus  passed  a  few  swift  years,  and  they  no  longer 

were  children.  i4o 

He  was  a  valiant  youth,  and  his  face,  like  the  face  of 

the  morning, 
Gladdened    the   earth   with    its   light,   and    ripened 

thought  into  action. 
She  was  a  woman  now,  with  the  heart  and  hopes  of  a 

woman. 
*'  Sunshine  of  Saint  Eulalie  "  was  she  called ;  for  that 

was  the  sunshine 
Which,  as   the  farmers   believed,  would  load  their 

orchards  with  apples  ;  i45 

She  too  would  bring  to  her  husband's  house  delight 

and  abundance, 
Filling  it  full  of  love  and  the  ruddy  faces  of  children. 

II. 

Now  had  the  season  returned,  when  the  nights  grow 
colder  and  longer, 
And  the  retreating  sun  the  sign  of  the  Scorpion  en- 
ters. 

139.  In  Pluquet's  Contes  Populaires  we  are  told  that  if  one  of 
a  swallow's  young  is  blind  the  mother  bird  seeks  on  the  shore  of 
the  ocean  a  little  stone,  with  which  she  restores  its  sight  ;  and 
he  adds,  •'  He  who  is  fortunate  enough  to  find  that  stone  in  a 
swallow's  nest  holds  a  wonderful  remedy."  Pluquet's  book 
treats  of  Norman  superstitions  and  popular  traits. 

144.  Fluquet  also  gives  this  proverbial  saying  :  — 

"  Si  le  soleil  rit  le  jour  Sainte-Eulalie, 
II  y  aura  pommes  et  cidre  ik  folie." 

(If  the  sun  smiles  on  Saint  Eulalie's  day,  there  will  be  plenty 
of  apples,  and  cider  enough.) 

Saint  Eulalie's  day  is  the  12th  of  February. 


LOW. 
nest  of  the 

r  no  longer 

140 

the  face  of 

id    ripened 

hopes  of  a 

id ;  for  that 

load  their 

145 

use  delight 
►f  children. 

ights  grow 
orpion  en- 


lat  if  one  of 
the  shore  of 
3  sight  ;  and 
,t  stone  in  a 
quet's  book 


ill  be  plenty 


EVANGELINE. 

Birds  of  passage  sailed  through  the  leaden  air,  from 
the  ice-bound,  IM 

Desolate  northern  bays  to  the  shores  of  tropical  is- 
lands. 

Harvests  were  gathered  in  ;  and  wild  with  the  winds 
of  September 

Wrestled  the  trees  of  the  forest,  as  Jacob  of  old  with 
the  angel. 

All  the  signs  foretold  a  winter  long  and  inclement. 

Bees,  with  prophetic  instinct  of  want,  had  hoarded 
their  honey  us 

Till  the  hives  overflowed ;  and  the  Indian  hunters  as- 
serted 

Cold  would  the  winter  be,  for  thick  was  the  fur  of  the 
foxes. 

Such  was  the  advent  of  autumn.  Then  followed  that 
beautiful  season. 

Called  by  the  pious  Acadian  peasants  the  Summer  of 
AU-Saints ! 

Filled  was  the  air  with  a  dreamy  and  magical  light ; 
and  the  landscape  m 

Lay  as  if  new-created  in  all  the  freshness  of  child- 
hood. 

Peace  seemed  to  reign  upon  earth,  and  the  restless 
heart  of  the  ocean 

Was  for  a  moment  consoled.  All  sounds  were  in 
harmony  blended. 

Voices  of  children  at  play,  the  crowing  of  cocks  in  the 
farm-yards, 

159.  The  Summer  of  All-Saints  is  our  Indian  Summer,  All- 
Saints  Day  being  November  1st.  The  French  also  give  this  sea- 
son the  name  of  Saint  Martin's  Summer,  Saint  Martin's  Day 
being  November  11th. 


il     i. 


I 


ij' 


it  hi 


i 


.3 


nAi 


;l  ■; 


22         HENRY  WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Whir  of  wings  in  the  drowsy  air,  and  the  cooing  of 
pigeons,  les 

All  were  subdued  and  low  as  the  murmurs  of  love, 
and  the  great  sun 

Looked  with  the  eye  of  love  through  the  golden  va- 
pors around  him ; 

While  arrayed  in  its  robes  of  russet  and  scarlet  and 
yellov/. 

Bright  with  the  sheen  of  the  dew,  each  glittering  tree 
of  the  forest 

Flashed  like  ^Iie  plane-tree  the  Persian  adorned  with 
mantles  and  jewels.  no 

Now  recommenced  the  region  of  rest  and  affection 
and  stillness. 

Day  with  its  burden  and  heat  had  departed,  and  twi- 
light descending 

Brought  back  the  evening  star  to  th«i  sky,  and  the 
herds  to  the  homestead. 

Pawing  the  ground  they  came,  and  resting  their  necks 
on  each  other. 

And  with  their  nostrils  distended  inhaling  the  fresh- 
ness of  evening.  175 

Foremost,  bearing  the  bell,  Evangeline's  beautiful 
heifer, 

Proud  of  her  snow-white  hide,  and  the  ribbon  that 
waved  from  her  collar. 

Quietly  paced  and  slow,  as  if  conscious  of  human 
affection. 

170.  Herodotus,  in  his  account  of  Xerxes'  expedition  against 
Greece,  tells  of  a  beautiful  plane-tree  which  Xerxes  found,  and 
was  so  enamored  with  that  he  dressed  it  as  one  might  a  woman, 
and  placed  it  under  the  care  of  a  guardsman  (vii.  31).  Another 
writer,  iElian,  improving  on  this,  says  he  adorned  it  with  a  neck- 
lace and  bracelets. 


>ow. 


EVANGELINE. 


23 


I  cooing  of 

165 

rs  of  love, 
golden  va- 
icarlet  and 
itering  tree 
orned  with 

170 

d  affection 
3,  and  twi- 
r,  and  the 
heir  necks 
the  *resh- 

175 

beautiful 
jbon  that 
of  human 


tion  against 
!  found,  and 
it  a  woman, 
).  Another 
(ritli  a  neck- 


Then  came  the  shepherd  back  with  his  bleating  flocks 

from  the  seaside, 
Where  was  their  favorite  pasture.     Behind  tbem  fol- 
lowed the  watch-dog,  iso 
Patient,  full  of  importance,  and  grand  in  the  pride  of 

his  instinct, 
Walking  from  side  to  side   with  a  lordly  air,  and 

superbly- 
Waving  his  bushy  tail,  and  urging  forward  the  strag- 
glers ; 
Regent  of  flocks  was  he  whe^T:  the  shepherd  slept; 

their  protector, 
When  from  the  forest  at  night,  through  the   starry 

silence,  the  wolves  howled.  iss 

Late,  with  the  rising  moon,  returned  the  wains  from 

the  marshes. 
Laden  with  briny  hay,  that  filled  the  air  with  its  odor. 
Cheerily  neighed  the  steeds,  with  dew  on  their  manes 

ard  their  fetlocks, 
While  aloft  on  their  shoulders  the  wooden  and  pon- 

derous  saddles. 
Painted  with  brilliant  dyes,  and  adorned  with  tassels 

of  crimson,  190 

Nodded  in  bright  array,  like  hollyhocks  heavy  with 

blossoms. 
Patiently  stood  the  cows  meanwhile,  and  yielded  their 

udders 
Unto  the  milkmaid's  hand ;  whilst  loud  and  in  regular 

cadence 

193.  There  is  a  charming  milkmaid's  song  in  Tennyson's  drama 
of  Queen  Mary,  Act  III.,  Scene  5,  where  the  streaming  of  the 
milk  into  the  sounding  pail  is  caught  in  the  tinkling  k's  of  such 
lines  as 

"  And  you  came  and  kissed  me,  milking  tlie  cow." 


Iff 


1'! 


M 


ii 


24        HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Into  the  sounding  pails  the  foaming  streamlets  de- 
scended. 

Lowing  of  cattle  and  peals  of  laughter  were  heard  in 
the  farm-yard,  im 

Echoed  back  by  the  barns.  Anon  they  sank  into 
stillness ; 

Heavily  closed,  with  a  jarring  sound,  the  valves  of  the 
barn-doors, 

Rattled  the  wooden  bars,  and  all  for  a  season  was  silent. 


I    ni; 


■''  t 


In-doors,  warm  by  the  wide-mouthed  fireplace,  idly 
the  farmer 

Sat  in  his  elbow-chair,  and  watched  how  the  flames 
and  the  smoke-wreaths  20c 

Struggled  together  like  foes  in  a  burning  city.  Be- 
hind him, 

Nodding  and  mocking  along  the  wall  with  gestures 
fantastic. 

Darted  his  own  huge  shadow,  and  vanished  away  into 
darkness. 

Faces,  clumsily  carved  in  oak,  on  the  back  of  his  arm- 
chair 

Laughed  in  the  flickering  light,  and  the  pewter  plates 
on  the  dresser  205 

Caught  and  reflected  the  flame,  as  shields  of  armies 
the  sunshine. 

Fragments  of  song  the  old  man  sang,  and  carols  of 
Christmas, 

Such  as  at  home,  in  the  olden  time,  his  fathers  before 
him 

Sang  in  their  Norman  orchards  and  bright  Burgundian 
vineyards. 

Close  at  her  father's  side  was  the  gentle  Evangeline 
seated,  21a 


ow. 

samlets  de- 
re  heard  in 

195 

sank  into 
Ives  of  the 
was  silent, 
iplace,  idly 
the  flames 

20G 

city.  Be- 
h  gestures 
away  into 
)f  his  arm- 
rter  plates 

205 

of  armies 

carols  of 

ers  before 

irgundian 

Ivangeline 

2ia 


EVANGELINE, 


25 


Spinning  flax  for  the  loom  that  stood  in  the  corner 

behind  her. 
Silent  awhile  were  its  treadles,  at  rest  was  its  diligent 

shuttle, 
While  the  monotonous  drone  of  the  wheel,  like  the 

drone  of  a  bagpipe. 
Followed  the  old  man's  song,  and  united  the  fragments 

together. 
As  in  a  church,  when  the  chant  of  the  choir  at  inter- 
vals ceases.,  as 
Footfalls  are  heard  in  the  aisles,  or  words  of  the  priest 

at  the  altar, 
So,  in  each  pause  of  the  song,  with  measured  motion 

the  clock  clicked. 

Thus  as  they  sat,  there  were  footsteps  heard,  and, 

suddenly  lifted. 
Sounded  the  wooden  latch,  and  the  door  swung  back 

on  its  hinges. 
Benedict  knew  by  +,he  hob-nailed  shoes  it  was  Basil 

the  blacksmith,  220 

And  by  her  beating  heart  Evangeline  knew  who  was 

with  him. 
"  Welcome ! "  the  farmer  exclaimed,  as  their  footsteps 

paused  on  the  threshold, 
** Welcome,  Basil,  my  friend!  Come,  take  thy  place 

on  the  settle 
Close   by  the  chimney-side,  which  is  always  empty 

without  thee ; 
Take  from  the  shelf  overhead  thy  pipe  and  the  box  of 

tobacco;  225 

Never  so  much  thyself  art  thou  as  when,  through  the 

curling 
Smoke  of  the  pipe  or  the  forge,  thy  friendly  and  jovial 

face  gleams 


!  :}• 


t  .      J 


i   t  M 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Hound  and  red  as  the  harvest  moon  through  the  mist 

of  the  marshes." 
Then,  with  a  smile  of  content,  thus  answered  Basil  the 

blacksmith. 
Taking  with  easy  air  the  accustomed  seat  by  the  fire- 
side ; 230 

"  Benedict  Bellofontaine,  thou  hast  ever  thy  jest  and 

thyl^kci! 
Ever  in  cht.  -  uiil    t.  mood  art  thou,  when  others  are 

filled  Wi';!i 
Gloomy  forebodings  of  ill,  and  see  only  ruin  before 

themo 
Happy  art  thou,  as  if  every  day  thou  hadst  picked  up 

a  horseshoe." 
Pausing  a  moment,  to  take  the  pipe  that  Evangeline 

brought  him,  235 

And  with  a  coal  from  the  embers  had  lighted,  he 

slowly  continued :  — 
*'  Four  days  now  are  passed  since  the  English  ships 

at  their  anchors 
Ride  in  the  Gaspereau's  mouth,  with  their  cannon 
,  pointed  against  us. 

What  their  design  may  be  is  unknown ;  but  all  are 

commanded 
On  the  morrow  to  meet  in  the   church,  where   his 

Majesty's  mandate  240 

Will  be  proclaimed  as  law  in  the  land.     Alas  !  in  the 

mean  time 
Many  surmises  of  evil  alarm  the  hearts  of  the  peo- 
ple." 
Then   made   answer  the   farmer :  — "  Perhaps   some 

friendlier  purpose 

239.  The  text  of  Colonel  Winslow's  proclamation  will  be  found 
in  Haliburton,  i.  175. 


f: 


'kk.' 


EVANGELINE, 


27 


T  cannon 


Brings  these  ships  to  our  shores.  Perhaps  the  har- 
vests in  England 

By  untimely  rains  or  untimelier  heat  have  been 
blighted,  245 

And  from  our  bursting  barns  they  would  feed  their 
cattle  and  children." 

^l^oi  so  thinketh  the  folk  in  the  village,"  said  warmly 
the  blacksmith. 

Shaking  his  head  as  in  doubt ;  then,  heaving  a  sigh, 
he  continued :  — 

"  Louisburg  is  not  forgotten,  nor  Beau  Se^oi;  ,  nor 
Port  Royal. 

Many  already  have  fled  to  the  forest,  and  lurk  on  its 
outskirts,  r;50 

Waiting  with  anxious  hearts  the  dubiou  fate  of  to- 
morrow. 

Arms  have  been  taken  from  us,  and  warlike  weapons 
of  all  kinds ; 

Nothing  is  left  but  the  blacksmith's  sledge  and  the 
scythe  of  the  mower." 

Then  with  a  pleasant  smile  made  answer  the  jovial 
farmer :  — 


'i 


:• 


249.  Louisburg,  on  Cape  Breton,  was  built  by  the  French  as  a 
military  and  naval  station  early  in  the  eighteenth  century,  but 
was  taken  by  an  expedition  from  Massachusetts  under  General 
Pepperell  in  1745.  It  was  restored  by  England  to  France  in  the 
treaty  of  Aix-la-Chapelle,  and  recaptured  by  the  English  in 
1757.  Beau  Sdjour  was  a  French  fort  upon  the  neck  of  land 
connecting  Acadia  with  the  mainland  which  had  just  been  cap- 
tured by  Winslow's  forces.  Port  Royal,  afterwards  called  Anna- 
polis Royal,  at  the  outlet  of  Annapolis  River  into  the  Bay  of 
Fundy,  had  been  disputed  ground,  being  occupied  alternately  by 
French  and  English,  but  in  1710  was  attacked  by  an  expedition 
from  New  England,  and  after  that  held  by  the  English  govern- 
ment and  made  a  fortified  place. 


M     !:  >;^ 


28        HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

"  Safer  are  we  unarmed,  in  the  midst  of  our  flocks 

and  our  cornfields,  255 

Safer  within  these  peaceful  dikes  besieged  by  the  ocean, 
Than  our  fathers  in  forts,  besieged  by  the  enemy's 

cannon. 
Fear  no  evil,  my  friend,  and  to-night  may  no  shadow 

of  sorrow 
Fall  on  this  house  and  hearth  ;  for  this  is  the  night 

of  the  contract. 
Built  are  the  house  and  the  barn.     The  merry  lads  of 

the  village  26O 

Strongly  have  built  them  and  well ;  and,  breaking  the 

glebe  round  about  them, 
Filled  the  barn  with  hay,  and  the  house  with  food  for 

a  twelvemonth. 
Rend  Leblanc  will  be  here  anon,  with  his  papers  and 

inkhorn. 
Shall  we  not  then  be  glad,  and  rejoice  in  the  joy  of 

our  children  ?  " 
As  apart  by  the  window  she  stood,  with  her  hand  in 

her  lover's,  265 

Blushing  Evangeline  heard  the  words  that  her  father 

had  spoken, 
And,  as  they  died  on  his  lips,  the  worthy  notary  en- 
tered. 

III. 

Bent  like  a  laboring  oar,  that  toils  in  the  surf  of 
the  ocean, 

267.  A  notary  is  an  officer  authorized  to  attest  contracts  or 
writings  of  any  kind.  His  authority  varies  in  different  coun- 
tries ;  in  France  he  is  the  necessary  maker  of  all  contracts  where 
the  subject-matter  exceeds  150  francs,  and  his  instruments, 
which  are  preserved  and  registered  by  himself,  are  the  origi- 
nals, the  parties  preserving  only  copies. 


)W. 


EVANGELINE. 


29 


our  flocks 

255 

the  ocean, 
e  enemy's 

10  shadow 

the  night 

ry  lads  of 

260 

saking  the 
1  food  for 
apers  and 
the  joy  of 
hand  in 

265 

ler  father 
otary  en- 

e  surf  of 


sntracts  or 
rent  coun- 
•acts  where 
struments, 
the  origi- 


J 


I 


I 


Bent,  but  not  broken,  by  age  was  the  form  of  the  no- 
tary public ; 

Shocks  of  yellow  hair,  like  the  silken  floss  of  the 
maize,  hung  m 

Over  his  shoulders ;  his  forehead  was  high ;  and 
glasses  with  horn  bows 

Sat  astride  on  his  nose,  with  a  look  of  wisdom  supernal. 

Father  of  twenty  children  was  he,  and  more  than  a 
hundred 

Children's  children  rode  on  his  knee,  and  heard  his 
great  watch  tick. 

Four  long  years  in  the  times  of  the  war  had  he  lan- 
guished a  captive,  87» 

Suffering  much  in  an  old  French  fort  as  the  friend  of 
the  English. 

Now,  though  warier  grown,  without  all  guile  or  sus- 
picion, 

Kipe  in  wisdom  was  he,  but  patient,  and  simple,  and 
childlike. 

He  was  beloved  by  all,  and  most  of  all  by  the  chil- 
dren ; 

For  he  told  them  tales  of  the  Loup-garou  in  the  for- 
est, 880 

276.  King  George's  War,  which  broke  out  in  1744  in  Cape 
Breton,  in  an  attack  by  the  French  upon  an  English  garrison, 
and  closed  with  the  peace  of  Aix-la-Chapelie  in  1748  ;  or,  the 
reference  may  possibly  be  to  Queen  Anne's  war,  1702-1713, 
when  the  French  aided  the  Indians  in  their  warfare  with  the  col- 
onists. 

280.  The  Loup-garou,  or  were-wolf,  is,  according  to  an  old  su- 
perstition especially  prevalent  in  France,  a  man  with  power  to 
turn  himself  into  a  wolf,  which  he  does  that  he  may  devour  chil- 
dren. In  later  times  the  superstition  passed  into  the  more  imio- 
oent  one  of  men  having  a  power  to  charm  wolves. 


m 


ill 

} 

'it 


"t  t 


u 


80 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


And  of  the  goblin  that  came  in  the  night  to  water  the 

horses, 
And  of  the  white  Letiche,  the  ghost  of  a  child  who 

unchristened 
Died,  and  was  doomed  to  haunt  unseen  the  chambers 

of  children ; 
And  how  on  Christmas  eve   the  oxen  talked  in  the 

stable. 
And  how  the  fever  was  cured  by  a  spider  shut  up  in 

a  nutshell,  28a 

And  of  the  marvellous  powers  of  four-leaved  clover 

and  horseshoes. 
With  whatsoever  else  was  writ  in  the  lore  of  the  village. 
Then  up  rose  from  his  seat  by  the  fireside  Basil  the 

blacksmith. 
Knocked  from  his  pipe  the  ashes,  and  slowly  extend- 
ing his  right  hand, 
"  Father  Leblanc,"  he  exclaimed,  "  thou  hast  heard 

the  talk  in  the  village,  290 

And,  perchance,  canst  tell  us  some  news  of  these  ships 

and  their  errand." 
Then  with  modest  demeanor  made  answer  the  notary 

public,  — 
"Gossip  enough  have  I  heard,  in  sooth,  yet  am  never 

the  wiser ; 

282.  Pluquet  relates  this  superstition,  and  conjectures  that  the 
white,  fleet  ermine  gave  rise  to  it. 

284.  A  belief  still  lingers  among  the  peasantry  of  England,  as 
well  as  on  the  Continent,  that  at  midnight,  on  Christmas  eve,  the 
cattle  in  the  stalls  fall  down  on  their  knees  in  adoration  of  the 
:nfant  Saviour,  as  the  old  legend  says  was  done  in  the  stable  at 
Bethlehem. 

285.  In  like  manner  a  popular  superstition  prevailed  in  Eng- 
land that  ague  could  be  cured  by  sealing  a  spider  in  a  goose- 
qtull  and  hanging  it  about  the  neck. 


ow. 

>  water  the 

child  who 

chambers 

:ed  In  the 

hut  up  in 

28& 

fed  clover 

he  village. 
Basil  the 

ly  extend- 

ast  heard 

290 

lese  ships 
ie  notary 
am  never 

?es  that  the 

ilngland,  as 
las  eve,  the 
;ion  of  the 
e  stable  at 

sd  in  Eng- 
n  a  goose- 


EVANGELINE. 


81 


And  what  their  errand  may  be  I  know  no  better  than 
others. 

Yet  am  I  not  of  those  who  imagine  some  evil  inten- 
tion 295 

Brings  them  here,  for  we  are  at  peace ;  and  why  then 
molest  us  ?  " 

**God*s  name  !  "  shouted  the  hasty  and  somewhat  iras- 
cible blacksmith ; 

"  Must  we  in  all  things  look  for  the  how,  and  the  why, 
and  the  wherefore  ? 

Daily  injustice  is  done,  and  might  is  the  right  of  the 
strongest ! " 

But,  without  heeding  his  warmth,  continued  the  notary 
public,  —  W 

"  Man  is  unjust,  but  God  is  just ;  and  finally  justice 

Triumphs ;  and  well  I  remember  a  story,  that  often 
consoled  me. 

When  as  a  captive  I  lay  in  the  old  French  fort  at 
Port  Royal." 

This  was  the  old  man's  favorite  tale,  and  he  loved  to 
repeat  it 

When  his  neighbors  complained  that  any  injustice  was 
done  them.  305 

**  Once  in  an  ancient  city,  whose  name  I  no  longer  re- 
member. 

Raised  aloft  on  a  column,  a  brazen  statue  of  Justice 

Stood  in  he  public  square,  upholding  the  scales  in  its 
left  hand. 

And  in  its  -ight  a  sword,  as  an  emblem  that  justice 
presided 

Over  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  the  hearts  and  homes 
of  the  people.  aa 

302.  This  is  an  old  Florentine  story  ;  in  an  altered  form  it  is 
the  theme  of  Kossini's  opera  of  La  Gazza  Ladra. 


u 


t.H' 


1 


■ll 


™l 


'1 


Hi 

I   C4 


Ji 


r  IIP 


V    t 


:'•.'! 


il'i 


l»     s 


.1 


if 


i   j       ll 


,1 


^1: 


5»' 


32        HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW, 

Even  the  birds  had  built  their  nests  in  the  scales  of 
the  balance, 

Having  no  fear  of  the  sword  that  flashed  in  the  sun- 
shi.ie  abr\o  them. 

But  in  the  course  of  time  the  laws  of  the  land  were 
corrupted ; 

Might  took  the  place  of  right,  and  the  weak  were 
oppressed,  and  the  mighty 

Rilled  with  an  iron  rod.  Then  it  chanced  in  a  noble- 
man's palace  3i5 

That  a  necklace  of  pearls  was  lost,  and  ere  long  a  sus- 
picion 

jF')U  on  an  orphan  girl  who  lived  as  maid  in  the  house- 
hold. 

She,  after  form  of  trial  condemned  to  die  on  the  scaf- 
fold, 

Patiently  met  her  doom  at  the  foot  of  the  statue  of 
Justice. 

As  to  her  Father  in  heaven  her  innocent  spirit  as- 
cended, 320 

Lo !  o'er  the  city  a  tempest  rose ;  and  the  bolts  of  the 
thunder 

Smote  the  statue  of  bronze,  and  hurled  in  wrath  from 
its  left  hand 

Down  on  the  pavement  below  the  clattering  scales  of 
the  balance, 

And  in  the  hollow  thereof  was  found  the  nest  of  a 
magpie. 

Into  whose  clay-built  walls  the  necklace  of  pearls  was 
inwoven."  325 

Silenced,  but  not  convinced,  when  the  story  was  ended, 
the  blacksmith 

Stood  like  a  man  who  fain  would  speak,  but  findeth 
no  language ; 


ow. 

le  scales  of 
Q  the  sun- 
land  were 
veak  were 
in  a  noble- 

315 

ong  a  sus- 
the  house- 
1  the  seaf- 
statue  of 
spirit  as- 

320 

)lts  of  the 
rath  from 
'  scales  of 
aest  of  a 
earls  was 

325 

as  ended, 
t  findeth 


EVANGELINE. 


33 


All  his  thoughts  were  congealed  into  lines  on  his  face, 

as  the  vapors 
Freeze  in  fantastic  shapes  on  the  window-panes  in  the 

winter. 

Then  Evangeline  lighted  the  brazen  lamp  on  the 
table,  330 

Filled,  till  it  overflowed,  the  pewter  tankard  with 
home-brewed 

Nut-brown  ale,  that  was  famed  for  its  strength  in  the 
village  of  Grand-Pre ; 

While  from  his  pocket  the  notary  drew  his  papers  and 
inkhorn. 

Wrote  with  a  steady  hand  the  date  and  the  age  of  the 
parties. 

Naming  the  dower  of  the  bride  in  flocks  of  sheep  and 
in  cattle.  335 

Orderly  all  things  proceeded,  and  duly  and  well  were 
completed, 

And  the  great  seal  of  the  law  was  set  like  a  sun  on 
the  margin. 

Then  from  his  leathern  pouch  the  farmer  threw  on  the 
table 

Three  times  the  old  man's  fee  in  solid  pieces  of  sil- 
ver; 

And  the  notary  rising,  and  blessing  the  bride  and 
bridegroom,  340 

Lifted  aloft  the  tankard  of  ale  and  drank  to  their 
welfare. 

Wiping  the  foam  from  his  lip,  he  solemnly  bowed  and 
departed. 

While  in  silence  the  others  sat  and  mused  by  the  fire- 
side. 


I 


p: 


;i 


' 


34        HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Till  Evangeline  brought  the  draught-board  out  of  its 

corner. 
Soon  was  the  game  begun.     In  friendly  contention 

the  old  men  345 

Laughed  at  each  lucky  hit,  or  unsuccessful  manoeuvre, 
Laughed  when  a  man  was  crowned,  or  a  breach  was 

made  in  the  king-row. 
Meanwhile  apart,  in  the  twilight  gloom  of  a  window's 

embrasure, 
Sat  the  lovers  and  whispered  together,  beholding  the 

moon  vise 
Over  the  pallid  sea  and  the  silvery  mist  of  the  mead- 
ows. 350 
Silently  one  by  one,  in  the  infinite  meadows  of  heaven, 
Blossomed  the  lovely  stars,  the  forget-me-nots  of  the 

angels. 


Thus  was  the  evening  passed.     Anon  the  bell  from 

the  belfry 
Rang  out  the  hour  of  nine,  the  village  curfew,  and 

straightway 
Rose  the  guests  and  departed  ;  and  silence  reigned  in 

the  household.  865 


344.  The  word  draughts  is  derived  from  the  circumstance  of 
drawing  the  men  from  one  square  to  another. 

354.  Curfew  is  a  corruption  of  couvre-feu,  or  cover  fire.  In 
the  Middle  Ages,  when  police  patrol  at  night  was  almost  un- 
known, it  was  attempted  to  lessen  the  chances  of  crime  by  mak- 
ing it  an  offence  against  the  laws  to  be  found  in  the  streets  in 
the  night,  and  the  curfew  bell  was  tolled,  at  various  hours,  ac- 
cording to  the  custom  of  the  place,  from  seven  to  nine  o'clock  in 
the  evening.  It  warned  honest  people  to  lock  their  doors,  cover 
their  fires,  and  go  to  bed.  The  custom  still  lingers  in  many 
places,  even  in  America,  of  ringing  a  bell  at  nine  o'clock  in  the 
eveuiug. 


V. 

at  of  its 

•ntention 

848 

inoeuvre, 
jacli  was 

dndow's 


ling  the 


e  mead- 

350 

heaven, 
i  of  the 


11  from 
?w,  and 
2:ned  in 

tance  of 

fire.  In 
lost  un- 
)y  mak- 
;reets  in 
)urs,  ac- 
clock  in 
3,  cover 
II  many 
in  the 


EVANGELINE. 


35 


; 


Many  a  farewell  word  and  sweet  good-night  on  the 
door-step 

Lingered  long  in  Evangeline's  heart,  and  filled  it  with 
gladness. 

Carefully  then  were  covered  the  embers  that  glowed 
on  the  hearth-stone, 

And  on  the  oaken  stairs  resounded  the  tread  of  the 
farmer. 

Soon  with  a  soundless  step  the  foot  of  Evangeline  fol- 
lowed. 360 

Up  the  staircase  moved  a  luminous  space  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

Lighted  less  by  the  lamp  than  the  shining  face  of  the 
maiden. 

Silent  she  passed  through  the  hall,  and  entered  the 
door  of  her  chamber. 

Simple  that  chamber  was,  with  its  curtains  of  white, 
and  its  clothes-press 

Ample  and  high,  on  whose  spacious  shelves  were  care- 
fully folded  365 

Linen  and  woollen  stuffs,  by  the  hand  of  Evangeline 
woven. 

This  was  the  precious  dower  she  would  bring  to  her 
husband  in  marriage, 

Better  than  flocks  and  herds,  being  proofs  of  her  skill 
as  a  housewife. 

Soon  she  extinguished  her  lamp,  for  the  mellow  and 
radiant  moonlight 

Streamed  through  the  windows,  and  lighted  the  room, 
till  the  heart  of  the  maiden  370 

Swelled  and  obeyed  its  power,  like  the  tremulous  tides 
of  the  ocean. 

Ah!  she  was  fair,  exceeding  fair  to  behold,  as  she 
stood  with 


i 


m 


t 


36 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGF^LL  J'V. 


:|^       III 


iii^ll^ 


ill 


Naked  sn<  ^7-wliite  feet  on  the  gleaming  i\}OV  of  Lev 

chamber ! 
Little  she  dreamed  that  below,  among  the  trees  of  the 

orchard, 
Waited  her  lovtr  and  watched  for  the  gleam  of  her 

lamp  and  her  shadow.  375 

Yet  were  her  thoughts  of  him,  and  at  times  a  feeling 

of  sadness 
Passed  o'er  her  soul,  as  the  sailing  shade  of  clouds  in 

the  moonlight 
Flitted  across  the  floor  and  darkened  the  room  for  a 

moment. 
And,  as  she  gazed  from  the  window,  she  saw  serenely 

the  moon  pass 
Forth  from  the  folds  of  a  cloud,  and  one  star  follow 

her  footsteps,  350 

As  out  of  Abraham's  tent  young  Ishmael  wandered 

with  Hagar. 


m 


% 


IV. 

Pleasantly  rose  next  morn  the  sun  on  the  village 

of  Grand-Pr^. 
Pleasantly  gleamed  in  ^aQ  soft,    .  .^et  ai**  the  Basin  of 

Minas, 
Where  the  ships,  with  their  wavering  shadows,  were 

riding  at  anchor. 
Life  had  long  been  astir  in  the  village,  and  clamorous 

labor  886 

Knocked  with  its  hundred  hands  at  the  golden  gates 

of  the  morning. 
Now  from  the  country  around,  from  the  farms  and 

Utaighboring  hamlets. 
Came  in  their  holiday  dresses  the  blithe  Acadian 

peas£  tits. 


\ 


'  >or  of  Lev 
trees  of  the 
jam  of  her 

875 

>3  a  feeling 
t  clouds  in 
room  for  a 
6v  serenely 
Jtar  follow 

350 

wandered 


EVANGELINE. 


87 


le  village 

Basin  of 

)ws,  were 

lamorous 

385 

en  gates 
•ms  and 
Acadian 


i 

i 


Many  a  glad  goo<I-morrow  and  jocund  laugh  from  the 
young  folk 

Made  the  bright  air  brighter,  as  up  from  the  numer- 
ous meadows,  390 

Where  no  path  could  be  seen  but  the  track  of  wheels 
in  the  greensward. 

Group  after  group  appeared,  and  joined,  or  passed  on 
the  highway. 

Long  ere  noon,  in  the  village  all  sounds  of  labor  were 
silenced. 

Thronged  were  the  streets  with  people;  and  noisy 
groups  at  the  house-doors 

Sat  in  the  cheerful  sun,  and  rejoiced  and  gossiped  to- 
gether. 395 

Every  house  was  an  inn,  where  all  were  welcomed  and 
feasted ; 

For  with  this  simple  people,  who  lived  like  brothers 
together, 

All  things  were  held  in  common,  and  what  one  had 
was  another's. 

Yet  under  Benedict's  roof  hospitality  seemed  more 
abundant : 

396.  "  Real  misery  was  wholly  unknown,  and  benevolence 
anticipated  the  demands  of  poverty.  Every  misfortu'c  was  re- 
lieved as  it  were  before  it  could  be  felt,  without  ostentation  on 
the  one  hand,  and  without  meanness  on  the  other.  It  was,  in 
short,  a  society  of  brethren,  every  individual  of  which  was 
equally  ready  to  give  and  to  receive  what  he  thought  the  com- 
mon right  of  mankind."  —  From  the  Abbd  Raynal's  account  of 
the  Acadians.  The  Abbd  Guillaurae  Thomas  Francis  Raynal 
was  a  French  writer  (1711-1796),  who  published  A  Philosophi- 
cal History  of  the  Settlements  and  Trade  of  the  Europeans  in  the 
East  and  West  Indies,  in  which  he  included  also  some  account  of 
Canada  and  Nova  Scotia.  His  picture  of  life  among  the  Aca- 
dians, somewhat  highly  colored,  is  the  source  from  >%  hich  after 
writers  have  drawn  their  knowledge  of  Acadian  manners. 


i '  I 


38        HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW, 

For  Evangeline  stood  among  the  guests  of  her 
father ;  400 

Bright  was  her  face  with  smiles,  and  words  of  wel- 
come and  gladness 

Fell  from  her  beautiful  lips,  and  blessed  the  cup  as 
she  gave  it. 


I  '^1 


m^^ 


i       ' 


^ 


Under  the  open  sky,  in  the  odorous  air  of  the 
orchard, 

Stript  of  its  golden  fruit,  was  spread  the  feast  of  be- 
trothal. 

There  in  the  shade  of  the  porch  were  the  priest  and 
the  notary  seated;  405 

There  good  Benedict  sat,  and  sturdy  Basil  the  black- 
smith. 

Not  far  withdrawn  from  these,  by  the  cider-press  and 
the  beehives, 

Michael  the  fiddler  was  place.;,  with  the  gayest  of 
hearts  and  of  waistcoats. 

Shadow  and  light  from  the  leaves  alternately  played 
on  his  snow-white 

Hair,  as  it  waved  in  the  wind ;  and  the  jolly  face  of 
the  fiddler  410 

Glowed  like  a  living  coal  when  the  ashes  are  blown 
from  the  embers. 

Gayly  the  old  man  sang  to  the  vibrant  sound  of  his 
t^'idle., 

Tous  ies  J3oury^:ois  de  Chartres^  and  Le  Carillon  de 

413.  Tous  hs  Bourgeois  de  Chartres  was  a  song  written  by 
Ducauroi,  maitr^  de  chapelle  of  Henri  IV.,  the  words  of  which 
are :  — 


Vous  co\:naiBsez  Cyb^le, 
Qui  8ut  fixer  le  Teirpa  ; 
On  la  disait  fort  belle, 
MSme  daus  >:>i>i  vieu.\  au3. 


You  remember  Cybele, 
Wise  the  seasons  to  unfold  ; 
Very  fair,  said  men,  was  she, 
Even  when  her  yt  ars  grew  old. 


^w. 


EVANGELINE. 


39 


s    of    her 

400 

Is  of  wel- 
}he  cup  as 


ir  of  the 
ast  of  be- 
priest  and 

405 

the  black- 
-press  and 
gayest  of 
jly  played 
ly  face  of 

410 

ire  blown 
[id  of  his 
irillon  de 


written  by 
3  of  which 


le, 
unfold ; 
waa  she, 
grew  old. 


And  anon  with  his  wooden  shoes  beat  time  to  the 

music. 
Merrily,  merrily  whirled  the  wheels  of  the  dizzying 

dances  415 

Under  the  orchard-trees  and  down  the  path  to  the 

meadows ; 
Old  folk  and  young  together,  and  children  mingled 

among  them. 
Fairest  of  all  the  maids  was  Evangeline,  Benedict's 

daughter ! 
Noblest  of   all  the  youths  was  Gabriel,  son  of   the 

blacksmith ! 

So  passed  the  morning  away.  And  lo !  with  a  sum- 
mons sonorous  420 

Sounded  the  bell  from  its  tower,  and  over  the  mead- 
ows a  drum  beat. 

Thronged  ere  long  was  the  church  with  men.  With- 
out, in  the  churchyard, 


CHORDS. 


CHORUS. 


Cette  divinity,  quoique  deja  grand 'mere 
Avait  les  yeux  doux,  le  teint  frais, 
Avait  m§me  certains  attraits 
Fermes  comme  la  Terre. 


A  grandame,  yet  by  goddess  birth 
She  kept  sweet  eyes,  a  color   . 
And  held  through  everything  ac.  arm 
Fast  like  the  earth. 


Le  Carillon  de  Drmkerque  was  a  popular  song  to  a  tune  played 
on  the  Dunkirk  chimes.     The  words  are ;  — 


Le  Carillon  de  Diinkerque. 

Imprudent,  t^m^raire 
A  I'instant,  je  I'espere 
Dans  mon  juste  courroux, 
Tu  vas  tomber  sous  mes  coups  ! 

—  Je  brave  ta  menace. 

—  Etre  moi !  quelle  audace  ! 
Avance  done,  poltron ! 

Tu  trembles?  non,  nou,  non. 

—  J't^touffe  de  colere  ! 

—  Je  ria  de  ta  colere. 


The  Carillon  of  Dunkirk. 

Reckless  and  rash, 
Take  heed  for  the  flash 
Of  mine  anger,  't  is  just 
To  lay  thee  with  its  blows  in  the  dust. 

—  Your  threat  I  defy. 

—  What !  You  would  be  I ! 
Come,  coward  !  I  '11  show  — 
You  tremble  ?    No,  no  ! 

—  I  'm  choking  with  rage  ! 

—  A  fig  for  your  rage  ! 


The  music  to  vhich  the  old  man  sang  these  songs  will  be  found 
in  La  Cle'  du  Caveau,  by  Pierre  Capelle,  Nos.  5G4  and  739. 
Paris.  A.  Cotelle. 


l:i 


i| 


m 


I'l'if 


i^  'I 


ti- 


iji 


ill 


u  I 


40 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Waited  the  women.     They  stood  by  the  graves,  and 

hung  on  the  headstones 
Garlands  of  autumn-leaves  and  evergreens  fresh  from 

the  forest. 
Then  came  the  guard  from  the  ships,  and  marching 

proudly  among  them  425 

Entered  the  sacred  portal.     "With  loud  and  dissonant 

clangor 
Echoed  the  sound  of  their  brazen  drums  from  ceiling 

and  casement,  — 
Echoed  a  moment  only,  and  slowly  the  ponderous  por- 
tal 
Closed,  and  in  silence  the  crowd  awaited  the  will  of 

the  soldiers. 
Then  uprose  their  commander,  and  spake  from  the 

steps  of  the  altar,  430 

Holding  aloft  in  his  hands,  with  its  seals,  the  royal 

commission. 
"  You  are  convened  this  day,"  he  said,  *'  by  his  Maj- 
esty's orders. 
Clement  and  kind  has  he  been ;  but  how  you  have 

answered  his  kindness 
Let  your  own  hearts  reply  !    To  my  natural  make  and 

my  temper 
Painful  the  task  is  I  do,  which  to  you  I  know  must 

be  grievous.  435 

Yet  must  I  bow  and  obey,  and  deliver  the  will  of  our 

monarch : 
Namely,  that  all  your  lands,  and  dwellings,  and  cattle 

of  all  kinds 
Forfeited  be  to  the  crown  ;  and  that  you  yourselves 

from  this  province 

432.  Colonel  Winslow  has  preserved  in  his  Diary  the  speech 
which  he  delivered  to  the  assembled  Acadians,  and  it  is  copied 
by  Haliburton  in  his  History  0/  Noiu  Scotia,  i.  166,  167, 


I 


,ow. 

graves,  and 

fresh  from 

d  marching 

425 

d  dissonant 
rom  ceiling 
iderous  por- 
ihe  will  of 
:e  from  the 

430 

s,  the  royal 
by  his  Maj- 
V  you  have 
J  make  and 
know  must 

435 

will  of  our 
and  cattle 
yourselves 

'Y  tbo  speech 
I  it  is  copied 
167, 


EVANGELINE. 


41 


I 


Be  transported  to  other  lands.     God  grant  you  may 

dwell  there 
Ever  as  faithful  subjects,  a  happy  and  peaceable  peo- 
ple I  440 
Prisoners  now  I  declare  you,  for  such  is  his  Majesty's 

pleasure ! " 
As,  when  the  air  is  serene  in  the  sultry  solstice  of 

summer. 
Suddenly  gathers  a  storm,  and  the  deadly  sling  of  the 

hailstones 
Beats  down  the  farmer's  corn  in  the  field,  and  shatters 

his  windows. 
Hiding  the  sun,  and  strewing  the  ground  with  thatch 

from  the  house-roofs,  445 

Bellowing  fly  the  herds,  and  seek  to  break  their  en- 
closures ; 
So  on  the  hearts  of  the  people  descended  the  words  of 

the  speaker. 
Silent  a  moment  they  stood  in  speecliless  wonder,  and 

then  rose 
Louder  and  ever  louder  a  wail  of  sorrow  and  anger. 
And,  by  one  impulse  moved,  they  madly  rushed  to  the 

door-way.  450 

Vain  was  the  hope  of  escape;  and  cries  and  fierce 

imprecations 
Rang  through  the  house  of  prayer ;  and  high  o'er  the 

heads  of  the  others 
Rose,  with  his  arms  uplifted,  the  figure  of  Basil  the 

blacksmith. 
As,  on  a  stormy  sea,  a  spar  is  tossed  by  the  billows. 
Flushed  was  his  face  and  distorted  with  passion  ;  and 

wildly  he  shouted,  —  455 

*'  Down  with  the  tyrants  of  England  I  we  never  have 

sworn  them  allegiance  I 


i 


1 


4' 


1 


42 


HENRY  WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW, 


Death   to   these   foreign   soldiers,  who  seize  on   our 

homes  and  our  harvests  '  " 
More  he  fain  would  have  said,  but  the  merciless  hand 

of  a  soldier 
Smote  him  upon  the  mouth,  and  dragged  him  down  to 

the  pavement. 


It   ii 


In  the  midst  of  the  strife  and  tumult  of  angry  con- 
tention, 480 
Lo!  the  door  of  the  chancel  opened,  and  Father  Feli- 

cian 
Entered,  with  serious  mien,  and  ascended  the  steps  of 

the  altar. 
Raising  his  reverend  hand,  with  a  gesture  he  awed 

into  silence 
All  that  clamorous  throng ;  and  thus  he  spake  to  his 

people ; 
Deep  were  his  tones  and  solemn ;  in  accents  measured 

and  mournful  465 

Spake  he,  as,  after  the  tocsin's  alarum,  distinctly  the 

clock  strikes. 
*'  What  is  this  that  ye  do,  my  children  ?  what  madness 

has  seized  you  ? 
Forty  years  of  my  life  have  I  labored  among  you,  and 

taught  you. 
Not  in  word  alone,  but  in  deed,  to  love  one  another  I 
Is  this  the  fruit  of  my  toils,  of  my  vigils  and  prayers 

i?nd  privations?  470 

Have  you  so  soon  forgotten  all  lessons  of  love  and 

f  orfl^iveness  ? 
This  is  the  house  of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  and  would 

you  profane  it 
Thus  with  violent  deeds  and  hearts  overflowing  with 

hatred  ? 


EVANGELINE. 


43 


Lo!  where  the  crucified  Christ  from  His  cross  is  gaz- 


ing upon  you 


T 


See !  in  those  sorrowful  eyes  what  meekness  and  holy 


compassion 


T 


475 


Hark !  how  those  lips  still  repeat  the  prayer,  '  O 
Father,  forgive  them  ! ' 

Let  us  repeat  that  prayer  in  the  hour  when  the  wicked 
assail  us. 

Let  us  repeat  it  now,  and  say,  '  O  Father,  forgive 
them  1 ' " 

Few  were  his  words  of  rebuke,  but  deep  in  the  hearts 
of  his  people 

Sank  they,  and  sobs  of  contrition  succeeded  the  pas- 
sionate outbreak,  m 

While  they  repeated  his  prayer,  and  said,  *'  O  Father, 
forgive  them  I  " 


I 


Then  came  the  evening  service.    The  tapers  gleamed 

from  the  altar ; 
Fervent  and  deep  was  the  voice  of  the  priest,  and  the 

people  responded, 
Not  with  their  lips  alone,  but  their  hearts ;  and  the 

Ave  Maria 
Sang  they,  and  fell  on  their  knees,  and  their  souls, 

with  devotion  translated,  485 

Rose  on  the  ardor  of  prayer,  like  Elijah  ascending  to 

heaven. 

Meanwhile  had  spread  in  the  village  the  tidings  of 

ill,  and  on  all  sides 
Wandered,  wailing,  from  house  to  house  the  women 

and  children. 
Long  at  her  father's  door  Evangeline  stood,  with  her 

right  hand 


.«>^ 

^^.^> 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


22 


1^  12^    12.5 

ISO     "^^        ■■■ 

•L    ..„    mil  2.0 


1.4 


1.6 


P> 


<^ 


/a 


/a 


^. 


/A 


vVr 


O 


/ 


Hiotographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


4 


M 


fV 


\\ 


V 


6^ 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  MSSO 

(716)  872-4503 


44 


HENRY  WADSW  ORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Shielding  her  ryes  from  the  level  rays  of  the  sun, 
that,  (lesceiuling,  490 

Lighted  the  village  street  with  mysterious  splendor, 
and  roofed  each 

Peasant's  cottage  with  golden  thatch,  and  emblazoned 
its  windows. 

Long  within  had  been  spread  the  snow-white  cloth  on 
the  table ; 

There  stood  the  wheaten  loaf,  and  the  honey  fragrant 
with  wild  flowers ; 

There  stood  the  tankard  of  ale,  and  the  cheese  fresh 
brought  from  the  dairy  ;  <95 

And  at  the  head  of  the  board  the  great  arm-chair  of 
the  farmer. 

Thus  did  Evangeline  wait  at  her  father's  door,  as  the 
sunset 

Threw  the  long  shadows  of  trees  o*er  the  broad  am- 
brosial meadows. 

Ah  !  on  her  spirit  within  a  deeper  shadow  had  fallen. 

And  from  the  fields  of  her  soul  a  fragrance  celestial 
ascended,  —  000 

Charity,  meekness,  love,  and  hope,  and  forgiveness, 
and  patience ! 

Then,  all  forgetful  of  self,  she  wandered  into  the  vil- 
lage. 

Cheering  with  looks  and  words  the  mournful  hearts  of 
the  women. 

As  o'er  the  daikening  fields  with  lingering  steps  they 
departed. 

Urged  by  their  household  cares,  and  the  wearjr  feet  o£ 
their  children.  am 

492.  To  pmblazon  is  literally  to  ndorn  anything  with  ensigns 
armorial.  It  was  often  tlie  custom  to  work  these  ensigns  into 
the  design  of  painted  windows. 


LOW. 

of   the   sun, 

490 

LIS  splendor, 
emblazoned 
ite  cloth  on 
ley  fragrant 
iheese  fresh 

499 

irm-chair  of 

loor,  as  the 

I  broad  am- 

had  fallen, 
ice  celestial 

ftOO 

forgiveness, 
nto  the  vil- 
ul  hearts  of 
J  steps  they 
earjr  feet  of 

with  ensigns 
!  ensigns  into 


EVANGELINE. 


45 


Down  sank  the  great  red  sun,  and  in  golden,  glimmer- 
ing vapors 

Veiled  the  light  of  his  face,  like  the  Prophet  descend- 
ing from  Sinai. 

Sweetly  over  the  village  the  bell  of  the  Angelus 
sounded. 

Meanwhile,  amid  the  gloom,  by  the  church  Evange- 
line lingered. 
All  was  silent  within ;  and  in  vain  at  the  door  and  the 

windows  mo 

Stood  she,  and  listened  and  looked,  until,  overcome  by 

emotion, 
"  Gabriel ! "  cried   she   aloud  with  tremulous  voice ; 

but  no  answer 
Came  from  the  graves  of  the  dead,  nor  the  gloomier 

grave  of  the  living. 
Slowly  at  length  she  returned  to  the  tenantless  house 

of  her  father. 
Smouldered  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  on  the  board  was 

the  supper  untasted.  n» 

Empty  and  drear  was  each  room,  and  haunted  with 

phantoms  of  terror. 
Sadly  echoed  her  step  on  the  stair  and  the  floor  of  her 

chamber. 
In  the  dead  of  the  night  she  heard  the  disconsolate 

rain  fall 
Loud  on  the  withered  leaves  of  the  sycamore-tree  by 

the  window. 
Keenly  the  lightning  flashed  ;  and  the  voice  of  the 


echoinsf  thunder 


520 


Told  her  that  God  was  in  heaven,  and  governed  the 
world  He  created  I 


•:■! 


i 


46 


HENRY  WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


51  '■■ 


11   'I 


•i 


i 


Then  she  remembered  the  tale  she  had  heard  of  the 

justice  of  Heaven  ; 
Soothed  was  her  troubled  soul,  and  she  peacefully 

slumbered  till  morning. 

T. 

Four  times  the  sun  had  risen  and  set ;  and  now  on 
tlie  fifth  day 

Cheerily  called  the  cock  to  the  sleej)ing  maids  of  the 
farm-house.  525 

Soon  o'er  the  yellow  fields,  in  silent  and  mournful  pro- 
cession. 

Came  from  the  neighboring  hamlets  and  farms  the 
Acadian  women, 

Driving  in  ponderous  wains  their  household  goods  to 
the  sea- shore. 

Pausing  and  looking  back  to  gaze  once  more  on  their 
dwellings. 

Ere  they  were  shut  from  sight  by  the  winding  road  and 
the  woodland.  530 

Close  at  their  sides  their  children  ran,  and  urged  on 
the  oxen. 

While  in  their  little  hands  they  clasped  some  frag- 
ments of  playthings. 

Thus  to  the  Gaspereau's  mouth  they  hurried ;  and 

there  on  tlie  sea-beach 
Piled  in  confusion  lay  the  household  goods  of  the 

peasants. 
All  day  long  between  the  shore  and  the  ships  did  the 

boats  ply ;  »m 

All  day  long  the  wains  came  laboring  down  from  the 

village. 
Late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  sun  was  near  to  his 

setting, 


IK      I 


:low. 

lieard  of  the 
le  peacefully 


and  now  on 
naids  of  the 

525 

lournful  pro- 
,d  farms  the 
lold  goods  to 
lore  on  their 
ing  road  and 

930 

nd  urged  on 
some  frag- 

urried;  and 

oods  of  the 

hips  did  the 
ri35 
vn  from  the 

near  to  his 


EVANGELINE 


47 


Echoed  far  o'er  the  fields  came  the  roll  of  drums  from 
the  churchyard. 

Thither  the  women  and  children  thronged.  On  a  sud- 
den the;  church-doors 

Opened,  and  fortli  came  the  guard,  and  marching  in 
gloomy  procession  mo 

Followed  the  long-imprisoned,  but  patient,  Acadian 
farmers. 

Even  as  pilgrims,  wlio  journey  afar  from  their  homes 
and  their  country. 

Sing  as  they  go,  and  in  singing  forget  they  are  weary 
and  wayworn, 

So  with  songs  on  their  lips  the  Acadian  peasants  de- 
scended 

Down  from  the  church  to  the  shore,  amid  their  wives 
and  their  daughters.  5*5 

Foremost  the  young  men  came ;  and,  raising  together 
their  voices, 

Sang  with  tremulous  lips  a  chant  of  the  Catholic 
Missions :  — 

*'  Sacrrd  heart  of  the  Saviour  I  O  inexhaustible  foun- 
tain ! 

Fill  our  hearts  this  day  with  strength  and  submission 
and  patience ! " 

Then  the  old  men,  as  they  marched,  and  the  women 
that  stood  by  the  wayside  mo 

Joined  in  the  sacred  psalm,  and  the  birds  in  the  sun- 
shine above  tlieni 

Mingled  their  notes  therewith,  like  voices  of  spirits 
departed. 

Half-way  down  to  the  shore  Evangeline  waited  in 
silence. 
Not  overcome  with  grief,  but  strong  in  the  hour  of 
affliction,  — 


i 


\\ 


i 


i' 


48 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


m 


"!     S 


Calmly  and  sadly  she  waited,  until  the  procession  ap- 
proached her,  665 

And  she  beheld  the  face  of  Gabriel  pale  with  emotion. 

Tears  then  filled  her  eyes,  and,  eagerly  running  to 
meet  him, 

Clasped  she  his  hands,  and  laid  her  head  on  his 
shoulder,  and  whispered,  — 

**  Gabriel !  be  of  good  cheer  I  for  if  we  love  one 
another 

Nothing,  in  truth,  can  harm  us,  whatever  mischances 
may  happen  !  "  66o 

Smiling  she  spake  these  words ;  then  suddenly  paused, 
for  her  father 

Saw  she,  slowly  advancing.  Alas !  how  changed  was 
his  aspect ! 

Gone  was  the  glow  from  his  cheek,  and  the  fire  from 
his  eye,  and  his  footstep 

Heavier  seemed  with  the  weight  of  the  heavy  heart 
in  his  bosom. 

But  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh,  she  clasped  his  neck  and 
embraced  him,  oai 

Speaking  words  of  endearment  where  words  of  com- 
fort availed  not. 

Thus  to  the  Gaspereau's  mouth  moved  on  that  mourn- 
ful procession. 


There  disorder  prevailed,  and  the  tumult  and  stir  of 

embarking. 
Busily  plied  the  freighted  boats ;  and  in  the  confusion 
Wives  were  torn  from  their  husbands,  and  mothers, 

too  late,  saw  their  children  570 

Left  on  the  land,  extending  their  arms,  with  wildest 

entreaties. 
So  unto  separate  ships  were  Basil  and  Gabriel  carried, 


ILLOW. 
procession  ap- 

Ml 

with  emotion. 
y  running   to 

head   on  his 

we   love   one 

3r  mischances 

660 

denly  paused, 
changed  was 
the  fire  from 
heavy  heart 
his  neck  and 

56B 

ords  of  com- 
i  that  mourn- 

ilt  and  stir  of 

he  confusion 
md  mothers, 

670 

with  wildest 
jriel  carried, 


EVANGELINE. 


49 


While  in  despair  on  the  shore  Evangeline  stood  with 

her  father. 
Half  the  task  was  not  done  when  the  sun  went  down, 

and  the  twilight 
Deepened   and   darkened  around ;  and   in  haste  the 

refluent  ocean  s-s 

Fled  away  from  the  shore,  and  left  the  line  of  the 

sand-beach 
Covered  with  waifs  of  the  tide,  with  kelp  and  the  slip- 
pery sea-weed. 
Farther  back  in  the  midst  of  the  household  goods  and 

the  wagons. 
Like  to  a  gypsy  camp,  or  a  leaguer  after  a  battle. 
All  escape  cut  off  by  the  sea,  and  the  sentinels  near 

them,  680 

Lay  encamped  for  the  night  the  houseless  Acadian 

farmers. 
Back  to  its  nethermost  caves  retreated  the  bellowing 

ocean. 
Dragging  adown  the  beach  the  rattling  pebbles,  and 

leaving 
Inland  and  far  up  the  shore  the  stranded  boats  of  the 

sailors. 
Then,  as  the  night  descended,  the  herds  returned  from 

their  pastures ;  585 

Sweet  was  the  moist  still  air  with  the  odor  of  milk 

from  their  udders ; 
Lowing  they  waited,  and  long,  at  the  well-known  bars 

of  the  farm-yard,  — 
Waited  and  looked  in  vain  for  the  voice  and  the  hand 

of  the  milkmaid. 
Silence  reigned  in  the  streets;   from  the  church  no 

Angelus  sounded. 
Rose  no  smoke  from  the  roofs,  and  gleamed  no  lights 

from  the  windows.  mo 


'ff 


j 


I 


If 


60        HENRY  WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


m 


ii 


But  on  the  slicrjs  meanwhile  the  even  nj^  fires  had 

been  kindled, 
Built  of  the  drift-wood   thrown  on  the  sands  from 

wreeks  in  the  tt!n)[)est. 
Round  them  shapes  of  gloom  and  sorrowful  faces  were 

gathered, 
Voices  of  women  were  heard,  and  of  men,  and  the 

crying  of  children. 
Onward  from  fire  to  fire,  as  from  hearth  to  hearth  in 

his  parish,  W5 

Wandered  the  faithful  priest,  consoling  and  blessing 

and  cheering, 
Like  unto  shipwrecked  Paul  on  Melita's  desolate  sea- 
shore. 
Thus  he  approached  the  place  where  Evangeline  sat 

with  he?*  father, 
And  in  the  flickering  light  behe!.d  the  face  of  the  old 

man. 
Haggard   and   hollow  and  wan,  raid  without  either 

thought  or  emotion,  wo 

E'en  as  the  face  of  a  clock  from  which  the  hands  have 

been  taken. 
Vainly  Evangeline  strove  with  words  and  caresses  to 

cheer  him. 
Vainly  offered  him  food  ;  yet  he  moved  not,  he  looked 

not,  he  spake  not. 
But,  with  a  vacant  stare,  ever  gazed  at  the  flickering 

fire-light. 
"  Benedlcite  I  "  murmured  the  priest,  in  tones  of  com- 
passion. 60S 
More  he  fain  would  have  said,  but  his  heart  was  full, 

and  his  accents 
Faltered  and  paused  on  his  lips,  as  the  feet  of  a  child 

on  a  threshold. 


I 


biLLOW. 


L*n  iig  fires  had 


10  sands  from 

v'f 111  faces  were 

men,  and  the 

:h  to  hearth  in 

693 

I  and  blessing 
s  desolate  sea- 
^vangeline  sat 
ice  of  the  old 
i^ithout  either 

600 

le  hands  have 
id  caresses  to 
not,  he  looked 
tlie  flickering 
tones  of  com- 

flOft 

leart  was  full, 
eet  of  a  child 


EVANGELINE. 


61 


Hushed  by  the  scene  lie  beholds,  and  the  awful  pres- 
ence of  sorrow. 

Silently,  therefore,  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  head  of  the 
maiden, 

Raising  his  tearful  eyo'*  to  the  silent  stars  that  above 
them  CIO 

Moved  on  their  way,  unperturbed  by  the  w  rongs  and 
sorrows  of  mortals. 

Then  sat  h(;  down  at  her  side,  and  they  wept  together 
in  silence. 

» 

Suddenly  rose  from  the  south,  a  light,  as  in  autumn 

the  blood-red 
Moon  climbs  the  crystal  walls  of  heaven,  and  o'er  the 

horizon 
Titan-like  stretches  its  hundred  hands  upon  mountain 

and  meadow,  m 

Seizing  the   rocks   and   the  rivers,  and   piling   huge 

shadows  together. 
Broader  and  ever  broader  it  gleamed  on  the  roofs  of 

the  village, 
Gleamed  on  the  sky  and  the  sea,  and  the  ships  that 

lay  in  the  roadstead. 
Columns  of  shining   smoke   uprose,   and   flashes   of 

flame  ,7ere 
Thrust  through  their  folds  and  withdrawn,  like  the 

quivering  hands  of  a  martyr.  «» 

615.  The  Titans  were  giant  deities  in  Greek  my'^hology  who 
attempted  to  deprive  Saturn  of  tlie  sovereignty  of  heaven,  and 
were  driven  down  into  Tartarus  by  Jupiter,  the  son  of  Saturn, 
who  hurled  thunderbolts  at  them.  Briareus,  the  hundred-handed 
giant,  was  in  mythology  of  the  s«tme  parentage  as  the  Titans, 
but  w£is  not  classed  with  them. 


ii 


i\ 


i 


62 


HENRY  WADSWOnrn  LONGFELLOW, 


Then  as  the  wind  seized  the  gleeds  and  the  burning 
thutch,  and,  uplifting, 

Whirled  them  aloft  through  the  air,  at  once  from  a 
hundred  lunise-tops 

Started  the  slieeted  smoke  with  Hashes  of  Hame  inter- 
mingled. 


[1  i; 


These  things  behehl  in  dismay  the  crowd  on  the 
shore  and  on  shipboard. 

Speechless  at  first  they  stood,  then  cried  aloud  in  their 
anguish,  k» 

"  We  shall  behold  no  more  our  homes  in  the  village  of 
Grand-Pre  !  " 

Loud  on  a  sudden  the  cocks  began  to  crow  in  the  farm- 
yards, 

Thinking  the  day  had  dawned ;  and  anon  the  lowin^if 
of  cattle 

Came  on  the  evening  breeze,  by  the  barking  of  dogs 
interrupted. 

Then  rose  a  sound  of  dread,  such  as  startles  the  sleep- 
ing encampments  63« 

Far  in  the  western  prairies  of  forests  that  skirt  the 
Nebraska, 

When  the  "wild  horses  affrighted  sweep  by  with  the 
speed  of  the  whirlwind, 

621.    Gleeds.     Hot,  burning  coals  ;  a  Chaucerian  word  :  — 

'•And  wafres  pipiug  hoot  out  of  the  gleede." 

Canterbury  Tales,  1.  3379. 

The  burning  of  the  houses  was  in  accordance  with  the  instruc- 
tions of  the  Governor  to  Colonel  Winslow,  in  case  he  should  fail 
in  collecting  all  the  inhabitants  :  "  You  must  proceed  by  the  most 
vigorous  measures  possible,  not  only  in  compelling  them  to  em- 
bark, but  in  depriving  those  who  shall  escape  of  all  means  of 
tihelter  or  support,  by  burning  their  houses  and  by  destroying 
everything  that  may  afford  them  the  means  of  subsistence  in  the 
country." 


'EL  LOW. 

id  tho  burning 

at  once  from  a 
oi  flume  inter- 
crowd  on  the 

I  aloud  in  their 

625 

n  the  village  of 
ow  in  the  farm- 
ion  the  lowin<if 
Tking  of  dogs 
rtles  the  sleep- 

630 

that  skirt  the 
p  by  with  the 

'ian  word  :  — 
»» 

bury  Tales,  1.  3379. 

with  the  instruc- 

se  he  should  fail 

ceed  by  the  most 

ng  them  to  em- 

of  all  means  of 

I  by  destroying 

ibsistence  in  the 


EVANGELINE. 


63 


Or  the  loud  bellowing  herds  of  buffaloes  rush  to  the 

river. 
Such  was  the  sound  that  arose  on  tho  night,  as  tho 

herds  and  tho  horses 
Broke   through   their   folds   and   fences,  and   madly 

rushed  o'er  the  meadows.  eas 

Overwhelmed  with  the  sight,  yet  speechless,  the 
priest  and  the  maiden 

Gazed  on  the  scene  of  terror  that  reddened  and 
widened  before  them ; 

And  as  they  turned  at  h^ngth  to  speak  to  their  silent 
companion, 

Lo  I  from  his  seat  he  hao  fallen,  and  stretched  abroad 
on  the  seashore 

Motionless  lay  his  form,  from  which  the  soul  had  de- 
parted. 840 

Slowly  the  priest  uplifted  the  lifeless  head,  and  the 
maiden 

Knelt  at  her  father's  side,  and  wailed  aloud  in  her 
terror. 

Then  in  a  swoon  she  sank,  and  lay  with  her  head  on 
his  bosom. 

Through  the  long  night  she  lay  in  deep,  oblivious 
slumber ; 

And  when  she  woke  from  the  trance,  she  beheld  a 
multitude  near  her.  ms 

Faces  of  friends  she  beheld,  that  were  mournfully  gaz- 
ing upon  her. 

Pallid,  with  tearful  eyes,  and  looks  of  saddest  com- 
passion. 

Still  the  blaze  of  the  burning  village  illumined  the 
landscape, 


r. 


■*^*»S!^ 


54 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


h 


1 1 


III 

1 
1 

i1 

i 

y 

1 

1 

I  i 


\     ■: 


Reddened  the  sky  overhead,  and  gleamed  on  the  faces 
around  her,  ' 

And  like  the  day  of  doom  it  seemed  to  her  wavering 
senses.  6M 

Then  a  familiar  voice  she  heard,  as  it  said  to  the  peo- 
ple,— 

*'  Let  us  bury  him  here  by  the  sea.  When  a  happier 
season 

Brings  us  again  to  our  homes  from  the  unknown  land 
of  our  exile, 

Then  shall  his  saered  dust  be  piously  laid  in  the 
churchyard." 

Such  were  the  words  of  the  priest.  And  there  in 
haste  by  the  sea-side,  6.w 

Having  the  glare  of  the  burning  village  for  funeral 
torches, 

But  without  bell  or  book,  they  buried  the  farmer  of 
Grand-Prc. 

And  as  the  voice  of  the  priest  repeated  the  service  of 
sorrow, 

Lo  I  with  a  mournful  sound  like  the  voice  of  a  vast 
congregation. 

Solemnly  answered  the  sea,  and  mingled  its  roar  with 
the  dirges.  eeo 

*T  was  the  returning  tide,  that  afar  from  the  waste  of 
the  ocean. 

With  the  first  dawn  of  the  day,  came  heaving  and  hur- 
rying landward. 

Then  recommenced  once  more  the  stir  and  noise  of 
embarking ; 

657.  The  bell  was  tolled  to  mark  the  passage  of  the  soul  into 
the  other  world  ;  the  book  an  the  bcrvice  book.  The  phrase 
"  bell,  book,  or  candle  "  was  used  in  referring  to  excommunica- 
tion. 


t.  i 


ELLOW. 

6(1  on  tho  faces 

)  lior  wavoring 

aid  to  tlie  peo- 

'^hen  a  happier 

unknown  land 

y  laid  in  the 

And  there  in 

flu 

JO  for  funeral 

the  farmer  of 
the  service  of 

oice  of  a  vast 
its  roar  with 

660 

tlie  waste  of 
ving  and  hur- 
and  noise  of 


of  the  soul  into 
k.  The  phrase 
cxcommunicap 


EVANGELINE, 


56 


And  with  the  ehb  of  the  tide  the  ships  sailed   out  of 

the  hurlior, 
Leaving  behind  them  the  dead  on  the  shore,  and  the 

village  in  ruins.  mb 


PART  THE   SECOND. 

I. 

Many  a  weary  year  had  passed  since  tlie  burning  of 

(jrand-Pre, 
When  on  the  falling  tide  tlie    freighted    vessels   de- 
parted, 
Bearing  ji  nation,  with  all   its  household  gods,  into 

exile. 
Exile   without   an  end,  and    without   an  example  in 

story. 
Far    asunder,    on     separate     coasts,    the     Acadians 

landed ;  m 

Scattered  were  they,  lik(»  flakes  of   snow,  when   the 

wind  from  the  northeast 
Strikes  aslant  through  the  fogs  that  darken  the  Banks 

of  Newfoundland. 
Friendless,  homeless,  hopeless,  they   wandered   from 

city  to  city, 
From  the  cold  lakes  of  the  North  to  sultry  Southern 

savannas,  — 
From  the  bleak  shores  of  the  sea  to  the  lands  where 

the  Father  of  Waters  sts 

Seizes  the  hills  in  his  hands,  and  drags  them  down  to 

the  ocean. 
Deep  in  their  sands  to  bury  the  scattered  bones  of  the 

mammoth. 
677.  Bones  of  tlie  mastodon,  or  mammoth,  have  been  found 


i 


I 


(  I 


li 


1  ( 


1 


u 


66 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Friends  tbey  sought  and  homes ;  and  many,  despairing, 
heart-broken, 

Asked  of  the  earth  but  a  grave,  and  no  longer  a  friend 
nor  a  fireside. 

Written  their  liistory  stands  on  tablets  of  stone  in  the 
churchyards.  eso 

Long  amon^-  them  was  seen  a  maiden  who  waited  and 
v/andcred. 

Lowly  and  meek  in  spirit,  and  patiently  suffering  all 
things. 

Fair  was  she  and  young ;  but,  alas !  before  her  ex- 
tended. 

Dreary  and  vast  and  silent,  the  desert  of  life,  with  its 
pathway 

Marked  by  the  graves  of  those  who  had  sorrowed  and 
suffered  before  her,  ess 

Passions  long  extinguished,  and  hopes  long  dead  and 
abandoned, 

As  the  emigrant's  way  o'er  the   Western   desert  is 
marked  by 

Camp-fires  long  consumed,  and  bones  that  bleach  in 
the  sunshine. 

Something  there  was  in  her  life  incomplete,  imperfect, 
unfinished ; 

As  if  a  morning  of  June,  with  all  its  music  and  sun- 
shine, 690 

Suddenly  jiaused  in  the  sky,  and,  fading,  slowly  de- 
scend'^d 

Into  the  east  again,  from  whence  it  late  had  arisen. 

Sometimes  she  lingered  in  towns,  till,  urged  by  the 
fever  within  her, 

scattered  all  over  the  territory  of  the  United  States  and  Canada, 
but  the  greatest  number  have  been  collected  in  the  Salt  Licks  of 
Kentucky,  and  in  the  States  of  Oh'o,  Mississippi,  Missouri,  and 
Alabama- 


'ELLOW. 

any,  despairing, 

longer  a  friend 

i  of  stone  in  the 

680 

who  waited  and 

tly  suffering  all 

before  her  ex- 

of  life,  with  its 

,d  sorrowed  and 

685 

long  dead  and 

istern  desert  is 

that  bleach  in 

)lete,  imperfect, 

music  and  sun- 

690 

ing,  slowly  de- 
had  arisen, 
urged  by  the 

tafes  and  Canada, 
the  Salt  Licks  of 
)pi,  Missouri,  and 


EVANGELINE. 


67 


Urged  by  a  restless  longing,  the  hunger  and  thirst  of 
tliL'  s})irit, 

She  wouKl  coumR'Uco  a2  a  her  endless  search  and  en- 
deavor ;  695 

Sometimes  in  ehnrcliyard;-;  strayed,  and  gazed  on  the 
crosses  and  tombstones, 

Sat  by  some  nameless  grave,  and  thought  that  perhaps 
in  its  bosom 

He  was  ah-eady  at  rest,  and  she  longed  to  slumber  be- 
side him. 

Sometimes  a  rumor,  a  hearsay,  an  inarticulate  whis- 
l)er, 

Came  with  its  airy  liand  to  point  and  beckon  her  for- 
ward. 700 

Sometimes  she  spake  with  those  who  had  seen  her  be- 
loved and  known  him, 

But  it  was  long  ago,  in  some  far-off  place  or  forgot- 
ten. 

"  Gabriel  Lajeunesse  !  "  they  said  ;  "  Oh,  yes  !  we  have 
seen  him. 

He  was  with  Basil  the  blacksmith,  and  both  have  gone 
to  the  prairies ; 

Coureurs-des-bois  are  tliey,  and  famous  hunters  and 
trappers."  705 

699.  Observe  the  dimiimtion  in  tiiis  hno,  by  which  one  is  led 
to  the  airi/  hand  in  the  next. 

705.  Tiio  coureurs-des-hois  formed  a  chiss  of  men,  very  early  in 
Canadian  history,  produced  b}'  the  exigencies  of  the  fur-trade. 
They  were  French  by  birth,  but  by  loni;'  afliliraion  witli  the  In- 
dians and  adoption  of  tliclr  customs  had  become  half-civilized 
vatjrants,  'hose  chief  vocation  was  conductiiip^  the  canoes  of  the 
traders  along  the  lakes  and  rivers  of  the  interior.  Bushrangers 
is  the  English  equivalent.  They  phiyed  an  important  part  in  the 
Indian  wars,  but  were  nearly  as  lawless  as  the  Indians  them- 
selves.    The  reader  will  find   them   frequently  referred   to  in 


'I 


11 


11 


',{  ■.*■?• '^.■,  *<T!^^ 


58 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Ill 

\ 

i 

'  1 

1 

t 

b 

' 

"Gabriel  Lajeunesse  !  "  said  others;  "Oh,  yes  I  we 

have  seen  him. 
He  is  a  vovawur  in  the  lowlands  of  Louisiana." 
Then  would  they  say,  ''  Dear  child !  why  dream  and 

wait  for  him  longer? 
Are  there  not  other  youths  as  fair  as  Gabriel  ?  others 
Who  have  hearts  as  tender  and  true,  and  spirits  as 

loyal  ?  710 

Here  is  I)ai)tiste  Leblanc,  the  notary's  son,  who  has 

loved  thee 
Many  a  tedious  year ;  come,  give  him  thy  hand  and  be 

hai)j)y ! 
Thou  art  too  fair  to  be  left  to  braid  St.  Catherine's 

tresses." 
Then  would  Evangeline  answer,  serenely  but  sadly, 

"  I  cannot ! 
Whither  my  heart  has  gone,  there  follows  my  hand, 

and  not  elsewhere.  716 

For  when  the  heart  goes  before,  like  a  lamp,  and 

illumines  the  pathway, 
Many  things  are  made  clear,  that  else  lie  hidden  in 

darkness." 
Thereupon  the  priest,  her  friend  and  father  confessor, 
Said,   with   a   smile,    "  O   daughter !    thy   God   thus 

speaketh  within  thee  ! 
Talk   not   of   wasted   affection,   affection   never   was 

wasted ;  "m 

Parkman's  histories,  especially  in  The  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac, 
The  Discoverf/  of  the  Great  West,  and  Frontenac  and  New  France 
under  Louh  XI V. 

707.  A  voijngenr  is  a  river  boatman,  and  is  a  term  applied 
usually  to  Canadians. 

713.  St.  Catherine  of  Alexandria  and  St.  Catherine  of  Siena 
were  both  celebrated  for  their  vows  of  virginity.  Hence  the  say- 
ing to  braid  St.  Catherine's  tresses,  of  one  devoted  to  a  suigle  life. 


^ELLOW. 
"Oh,  yes  I  we 


>> 


Duisiana. 

why  dream  and 

labriel  ?  others 
,  and  spirits  as 

710 

's  sou,  who  has 
hy  hand  and  be 
St.  Catherine's 
aely  but  sadly, 
Hows  my  hand, 

715 

B  a  lamp,  and 

J  lie  hidden  in 

ther  confessor, 
:hy   God  thus 

)n   never  was 

720 

rac?j  of  Pontiac, 
2nd  New  France 

a  term  applied 

heriiie  of  Siena 
Hence  the  say- 
to  a  single  life. 


EVANGELINE. 


69 


If  it  enrich   not  the  heart  of  another,  its  waters,  re- 


turning 


Back  to  their  springs,  like  the  rain,  shall  fill  them  full 

of- refresh mciit ; 
That  wliieh  the  fountain  sends  forth  returns  again  to 

the  fountain. 
Patience  ;  accomplish  thy  labor  ;  accomplish  thy  work 

of  affection  ! 
Sorrow  and  silence  are  strong,  and  patient  endurance 


is  aodlike. 


725 


Therefore  accoini)lish  thy  labor  of  love,  till  the  heart 
is  nuule  godlike, 

Purified,  stiengtliened,  perfected,  aud  rendered  more 
worthy  of  heaven  !  " 

Cheered  by  the  good  man's  words,  Evangeline  labored 
and  waited. 

Still  in  her  heart  she  heard  the  funeral  dirge  of  the 
ocean, 

But  with  its  sound  there  was  mingled  a  voice  that 
whispered,  '•  Despair  not !  "  tsd 

Thus  did  that  poor  soul  wander  in  want  aud  cheer- 
less discomfort, 

Bleeding,  barefooted,  over  the  shards  aud  thorns  of 
existence. 

Let  me  essay,  O  Muse!  to  follow  the  wanderer's  foot- 
stops  ;  — 

Not  through  each  devious  path,  each  changeful  year 
of  existence ; 

But  as  a  traveller  follows  a  streamlet's  course  through 
the  valley  :  738 

Far  from  its  margin  at  times,  and  seeing  the  gleam  of 
its  water 

Here  and  there,  in  some  open  space,  and  at  intervals 
only; 


k 


i 


60 


HENRY  WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Then  drawing  nearer  its  banks,  throiigli  sylvan  glooms 

tliat  conceal  it, 
Though  he  behold  it  not,  he  can  hear  its  continuous 

murmur ; 
Happy,  at  length,  if  he  find  a  spot  where  it  reaches 

au  outlet.  740 

II. 

It  was  the  month  of  May.  Far  down  the  Beautiful 
Kiver, 

Past  the  Ohio  shore  and  past  the  mouth  of  the  Wa- 
bash, 

Into  the  golden  stream  of  the  broad  and  swift  Mis- 
sissipi)i, 

Floated  a  cumbrous  boat,  that  was  rowed  by  Acadian 
boatmen. 

It  was  a  band  of  exiles :  a  raft,  as  it  were,  from  the 
shipwrecked  745 

Nation,  scattered  along  the  coast,  now  floating  to- 
gether, 

Bound  by  the  bonds  of  a  common  belief  and  a  com- 
mon misfortune  ; 

Men  and  women  and  children,  who,  guided  by  hope 
or  by  hearsay, 

Sought  for  their  kith  and  their  kin  among  the  few- 
acred  farmers 

On  the  Acadian  coast,  and  the  prairies  of  fair  Oi^e- 

loUSaS.  760 


741.  The  Iroquois  p^ave  to  this  river  the  name  of  Ohio,  or  the 
Beautiful  River,  and  La  Salle,  who  was  the  iirst  European  to 
discover  it,  preserved  the  name,  so  that  it  was  transferred  to 
maps  very  early. 

750.  Between  the  1st  of  January  and  the  13th  of  jNIay,  1765, 
about  six  hundred  and  fifty  Acadians  had  arrived  at  .7ew  Or- 


i  FELLOW. 

gli  sylvan  glooms 

jar  its  continuous 

where  it  reaches 

740 

3wn  the  Beautiful 
louth  of  the  Wa- 
ad  and  swift  Mis- 
:owed  by  Acadian 
it  were,  from  the 

745 

now  floating  to- 
belief  and  a  com- 
),  guided  by  hope       I 


1  among  the  few- 


liries  of  fair  Ope- 

760 

name  of  Ohio,  or  the 
;ho  ih'st  European  to 
t  was  transferred  to 

le  13th  of  IMay,  1765, 
i  arrived  at  -/'ew  Or- 


EVANGELINE. 


61 


With  them  Evangeline  went,  and  her  guide,  the 
Father  Feliuian. 

Onward  o'er  sunken  sands,  through  a  wilderness 
sombre  with  forests. 

Day  after  day  they  glided  adown  the  turbulent  river ; 

Nigiit  after  night,  by  their  blazing  tires,  encami)ed  on 
its  borders. 

Now  through  rushing  chutes,  among  green  islands, 
where  plumulike  756 

Cotton-trees  nodded  their  shadowy  crests,  they  swept 
with  the  current. 

Then  emerged  into  broad  lagoons,  where  silvery  sand- 
bars 

Lay  in  the  stream,  and  along  the  wimpling  waves  of 
their  margin, 

Shining  with  snow-white  plumes,  large  flocks  of  pel- 
icans waded. 

Level  the  landscape  grew,  and  along  the  shores  of  the 


river. 


760 


Shaded  by  china-trees,  in  the  midst  of  luxuriant  gar- 
dens, 

Stood  the  houses  of  planters,  with  negro  cabins  and 
dove-cots. 

They  were  approaching  the  region  where  reigns  per- 
petual summer, 

leans.  Louisiana  liad  heen  ceded  by  France  to  Spain  in  1762, 
but  did  not  really  pass  under  the  control  of  the  Spanish  until 
17G9.  The  existence  of  a  French  popidation  attracted  the  wan- 
dering Acadians,  and  they  were  sent  by  the  authorities  to  form 
settlements  in  Attakapiis  and  Opelousas.  They  afterward  formed 
settlements  on  both  sides  of  the  ^Mississippi  from  the  German 
Coast  up  to  Haton  Rouge,  and  even  as  high  as  Pointe  Couple. 
Hence  the  name  of  Acadian  Coast,  which  a  portion  of  the  banks 
of  the  river  still  bears.  See  Gayarrd's  History  of  Louisiana: 
The  French  Dominion,  vol.  ii. 


'ii 


% 


^sm^- 


n 


ft' 


<-i 


62        HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW, 

Where  through  the  Goklen  Coast,  and  groves  of 
orange  and  citron, 

Sweeps  witli  majestic  curve  the  river  away  to  the  east- 
ward. 765 

They,  too,  swerved  from  their  course ;  and,  entering 
the  l^ayou  of  Pla(]ueniine, 

Soon  were  lost  in  a  i  laze  of  shiggish  and  devious 
waters. 

Which,  like  a  network  of  steel,  extended  in  every 
direction. 

Over  their  lieads  the  towering  and  tenebrous  boughs 
of  the  cypress 

Met  in  a  dusky  arch,  and  trailing  mosses  in  mid- 
air 770 

Waved  like  banners  that  hang  on  the  walls  of  ancient 
cathedrals. 

Deathlike  the  silence  seemed,  and  unbroken,  save  by 
the  herons 

Home  to  their  roosts  in  the  cedar-trees  returning  at 
sunset, 

Or  by  the  owl,  as  he  greeted  the  moon  with  demoniac 
Inughter. 

Lovely  the  moonlight  was  as  it  glanced  and  gleamed 
on  the  water,  775 

Gleamed  on  the  columns  of  cyj^ress  and  cedar  sustain- 
ing the  arches, 

Down  through  whose  broken  vaults  it  fell  as  through 
chinks  in  a  ruin. 

Dreamlike,  and  indistinct,  and  strange  were  all  things 
around  them  ; 

And  o'er  their  spirits  there  came  a  feeling  of  wonder 
and  sadness,  — 

Strange  forebodings  of  ill,  unseen  and  that  cannot  be 
compassed.  78o 


f^ELLOW. 
and  grovts  of 

iway  to  the  east- 

765 

5 ;  and,  entering 
!sh  and  devious 
tended  in  every 


inebrous  boughs 


mosses  in  mid- 
770 
walls  of  ancient 

ibroken,  save  by 


ees  returning  at 


with  demoniac 

ed  and  gleamed 
775 
id  cedar  sustain- 


fell  as  through 


were  all  things 


^elins:  of  wonder 


i  that  cannot  be 
no 


EVANGELI^E. 


63 


Aa,  at  the  tramp  of  a  horse's  hoof  on  the  turf  of  the 

prairies, 
Far  in  advance  are  closed  the  leaves  of  the  shrinking 

mimosa, 
So,  at  the  hoof-beats  o:*^  fate,  with  sad  forebodings  of 

evil, 
Shrinks  and  closes  the  heart,  ere  the  stroke  of  doom 

has  attained  it. 
But  Evangeline's  heart  was  sustained  by  a  vision,  that 

faintly  785 

Floated  before  her  eyes,  and  beckoned  her  on  through 

the  moonlight. 
It  was  the  thought  of  her  brain  that  assumed  the 

shape  of  a  phantom. 
Through  those  shadowy  aisles  had  Gabriel  wandered 

before  her, 
And  every  stroke  of  the  oar  now  brought  him  nearer 

and  nearer. 

Then  in  his  place,  at  the  prow  of  the  boat,  rose  one 
of  the  oarsmen,  790 

And,  as  a  signal  sound,  if  others  like  them  perad ven- 
ture 

Sailed  on  those  gloomy  and  midnight  streams,  blew  a 
blast  on  his  buale. 

Wild  through  the  dark  colonnades  and  corridors  leafy 
the  blast  rang. 

Breaking  the  seal  of  silence  and  giving  tongues  to  the 
forest. 

Soundless  above  them  the  banners  of  moss  just  stirred 
o  the  music.  795 

Multitudinous  echoes  awoke  and  died  in  the  distance, 

Over  the  watery  floor,  and  beneath  the  reverberant 
branches ; 


I 


£ 


64 


HENRY  WADSWORTII  LONGFELLOW. 


V    .fi 


'    'H 


:',   ').■■ 


y  8    ■» 


i  I 


1*1  :      }     "ii!' 


But  not  a  voice  replied  ;   no  answer  came  from  tlio 

dai  kness  ; 
And  when  the  eehoos  Iiad  ceased,  like  a  sense  of  jDaiJi 

was  the  sD^nu'c. 
Then    Evangeline    slept  ;    but    the    boatmen    rowed 

throuiih  tlie  niidniiilit,  soo 

Silent  at  times,  then  singing  familiar  Canadian  boat 

songs. 
Such  as  they  sang  of  old  on  their  own  Acadian  rivers, 
While  thiougli  the  niglit  were  heard  the  nnsterious 

sounds  of  the  desert, 
Far  off,  —  indistinct,  —  as  of   wave   or  wind   in  the 

forest. 
Mixed  with  the  whoop  of  the  crane  and  the  roar  of 

the  grim  alligator.  m 

Thus  ere  another  noon  they  emerged  from  the 
shades  ;  and  before  them 

Lay,  in  the  golden  sun,  the  lakes  of  the  Atchafalaya. 

Water-lilies  in  myriads  rocked  on  the  slight  undula- 
tions 

Made  by  the  passing  oars,  and,  resplcudent  in  beauty, 
the  lotus 

Lifted  her  golden  crown  above  the  heads  of  the  boat- 
men. 810 

Faint  was  the  air  with  the  odorous  breath  of  magno- 
lia Idossoms, 

And  with  the  heat  of  noon  ;  and  numberless  sylvan 
islands. 

Fragrant  and  thickly  embowered  with  blossoming 
hedges  of  roses. 

Near  to  whose  shores  they  glided  along,  invited  to 
slumber. 

Soon  by  the  f aires i;  of  these  their  weary  oars  were  sus- 
pended. 8U 


i;  FELLOW. 

p  Clime  from  tlio 

c  a  sense  of  pain 

boat  men    rowed 

800 

r  Canadian  boat 

1?  Acadian  rivers, 
(1   the  nnsterious 

or  wind   in  the 

and  the  roar  of 

805 


nerged   from   the 


the  Atcliafalaya. 
he  slight  undula- 

evident  in  beauty, 

leads  of  tlie  boat- 

810 

jreatii  of  magno- 
lunberless  sylvan 
with  blossoming 
along,  invited  to 
ary  oars  were  sus- 

815 


EVANGELINE. 


65 


Under  the  bon;;hs  of  Wachita  wiUows,  that  grew  by 

'he  niaigi.M, 
Safely  their  boat  was  mooied  ;  and  scattered  about  on 

the  greensward. 
Tired  with  tlicir   midnight  toil,  the  weary  travellers 

shur/bered. 
Over   them   vaiii;   and   highi    extended  the  cope   of   a 

ce(hir. 
Swinging  from  its  ,^reat  arms,  the  trumpet-flower  and 

the  grapevine  82o 

Hung  their  huUler  of  ropes  aloft  like  the  ladder  of 

Jacob, 
On  whose  pendulous  stairs  the  angels  ascending,  de- 

scendhig, 
Were  the  swift  humming-birds,  that  flitted  from  blos- 
som to  bh)ssom. 
Such  was  the  vision  Evangeline  saw  as  she  slumbered 

beneath  it. 
Filled  was  her  heart  with  love,  and  the  dawn  of  an 

opening  heaven  tan 

.   Lighted  her  soul  in  sleep  with  the  glory  of  regions 

celestial. 

Nearer,  ever  nearer,  among  the  numberless  islands, 
Darted  a  light,  swift  boat,  that  sped  away  o'er  the 

water. 
Urged  on  its  course  by  the  sinewy  arms  of  hunters 

and  trappers. 
Northward  it?  prow  was  turned,  to  the  land  of   the 

bison  and  beaver.  sao 

At  the  helm  sat  a  youth,  with  countenance  thoughtful 

and  careworn. 
Dark  and  neglected  locks  overshadowed  his  brow,  and 

a  sadness 


::i  h 


i  1^  k 


m.:\  ii 


'•■..r 


ifli  i 


I 


■r 


68 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


'£■ 


Somewhat  beyond  his  years  on  his  face  was  legibly 
written. 

Gabriel  was  it,  who,  w^-^"      vith  waiting;,  unhappy  and 
restless, 

Sought  in  the  Western  wilds  oblivion  of  self  and  of 
sorrow.  839 

Swiftly  they  glided  along,  close  under  the  lee  of  the 
island, 

But  by  the  opposite  bank,  and  behind  a  screen  of  pal- 
mettos ; 

So  that  they  saw  not  the  boat,  where  it  lay  concealed 
in  the  wiHows  ; 

All  undisturbed  by  tlie  dash  of  their  oars,  and  unseen, 
were  the  sleepers  ; 

Angel  of  God  was  there  none  to  awaken  the  slumber- 
ing maiden.  840 

Swiftly  they  glided  away,  like  the  shade  of  a  cloud  on 
tlie  prairie. 

After  the  sound  of  their  oars  on  the  tholes  had  died 
in  the  distance. 

As  from  a  magic  trance  the  sleepers  awoke,  and  the 
maiden 

Said  with  a  sigh  to  the  friendly  priest,  "O  Father 
Felician ! 

Something  says  in  my  heart  that   near  me  Gabriel 
wanders.  845 

Is  it  a  foolish  dream,  an  idle  and  vague  superstition  ? 

Or  has  an  angel  passed,  and  revealed  the  truth  to  my 
spirit  r 

Then,  with  a  blush,  she  added,  "Alas  for  my  credu- 
lous fancy ! 

Unto   ears  like  thine  such  words  as  these  have  no 


meaning. 


51 


But  made  answer  the  reverend  man,  and  he  smiled  as 
he  answered,  —  aco 


FELLOW. 

ace  was  legibly 


ig,  unhappy  and 


1  of  self  and  of 

83S 

p  the  lee  of  the 
a  screen  of  pal- 
it  lay  concealed 
Dars,  and  unseen, 
ken  the  slumber- 

840 

ide  of  a  cloud  on 
B  tholes  had  died 
1  awoke,  and  the 
riest,  "  O  Father 
near  me  Gabriel 

845 

rue  superstition? 
d  the  truth  to  my 

as  for  my  credu- 

as  these  have  no 

,  and  he  smiled  as 

860 


EVANGELINE. 


67 


".  Daughter,  thy  words  are  not  idle ;  nor  are  they  to 

1110  witlioiit  ineaiiing. 
Feeling  is  deeji  and  still ;  and  the  word  that  floats  on 

the  surface 
Is  as  the  tossing  buoy,  that  betrays  where  the  anchor 

is  hidilcMi. 
Therefore  trii.it  to  thy  heart,  and  to  what  the  world 

calls  illusions. 
Gabriel  truly  is  near  thee  ;  for  not  far  away  to  the 

southward,  ew 

On  the  banks  of  the  TOdie,  are  the  towns  of  St.  Maur 

anil  St.  Martin. 
There  the  long-wandering  bride  shall  bo  given  again 

to  lior  bridcgrooni, 
There  the  long-absont  pastor  regain  his  flock  and  his 

slieopfold. 
Beautiful  is  the  land,  with  its  prairies  and  forests  of 

fruit-trees ; 
Under  the  feet  a  garden  of  flowers,  and  the  bluest  of 

heavens  eeo 

Bending  above,  and  resting  its  dome  on  the  walls  of 

the  forest. 
They  who  dwell  there  have  named  it  the  Eden  of 

Louisiana." 

With  these  words  of  cheor  they  arose  and  continued 
their  journey. 

Softly  the  evening  came.  The  sun  from  the  western 
horizon 

Like  a  magieia,i  extended  his  golden  wand  o'er  the 
landscape ;  863 

Twinkling  vapors  arose  ;  and  sky  and  water  and  forest 

Seemed  all  on  fire  at  the  touch,  and  melted  and  min- 
gled together. 


ill 


r  '  i 


n . 


I 


'I 


m 


\i" 


!     \ 


•!      i 


i 


G8        lIENltY  WADSWORTII  LONGFELLOW. 

Hanging  between  two  skies,  a  cloud  with  edges  of 
silver, 

Flouted  tlio  bout,  with  its  dripping  ours,  on  the  mo- 
tionless water. 

Filled  was  Fvungeline's  heurt  with  inexpressible  sweet- 
ness. 870 

Touched  by  the  magic  spell,  the  sacred  fountuius  of 
fceliu;; 

Glowed  witi>  the  light  of  love,  as  the  skies  and  waters 
around  her. 

Then  from  a  neigld)()ring  thicket  the  mocking-bird, 
wihlest  of  sinmMs, 

Swinging  aloft  on  a  willow  spray  that  hung  o'er  the 
wuter, 

Shook  from  his  little  throat  such  floods  of  delirious 
music,  aro 

That  .  le  whole  air  and  the  woods  and  the  waves 
seemed  silent  to  listen. 

Plaintive  at  first  were  the  tones  and  sad ;  then  soaring 
to  madness 

Seemed  they  to  follow  or  guide  the  revel  of  frenzied 
Bucchuntes. 

Single  notes  were  then  heard,  in  sorrowful,  low  lam- 
entation ; 

Till,  having  gathered  them  all,  he  flung  them  abroad 
in  derision,  m 

As  when,  after  a  storm,  a  gust  of  wind  through  the 
tree-to])s 

Shakes  down  the  rattling  rain  in  a  crystal  shower  on 
the  branches. 

878.  The  Bacchantes  were  worshippers  of  the  god  Bacchus, 
who  in  Greek  mythology  presided  over  the  vine  and  its  fruits. 
They  gave  themselves  up  to  all  manner  of  excess,  and  their 
songs  and  dances  ware  to  wild,  intoxicating  measures. 


FELLOW. 

I  with  edges  of 

oars,  on  the  mo- 

'xpvessible  sweet- 

870 

red  fountjiius  of 
skies  iiiul  waters 
lie  moeking-hird, 
at  hung  o'er  the 
loods  of  delirious 

875 

3  and  the  waves 
iad ;  then  soaring 
revel  of  frenzied 
)rrowful,  low  1am- 
flunji:  them  abroad 

880 

wind  through  the 
crystal  shower  on 

of  the  god  Bacchus, 
e  vine  and  its  fruits. 

of  excess,  and  their 
I  measures. 


EVANGELINE. 


69 


i 


With  such  a  ])r«'lude  as  this,  and  hearts  that  throbbed 
with  eniution, 

Slowly  thi'V  entered  the  Teehe,  where  it  Hows  through 
tlie  .li'reen  Oprlousa^, 

And,  thr()UL;h  the  aiuber  air,  above  the  erest  of  the 
woodlautl,  88a 

Saw  the  eoliinni  of  smoke  that  aro.se  from  a  neighbor- 
ing dwidling  ;  — 

Sounds  of  a  liorn  they  heard,  and  the  distant  lowing 
of  eattle. 

III. 

Near  to  tlie  bank  of  the  river,  overshadowed  by  oaks 
from  wliose  branches 

Garlands  of  Spanish  moss  and  of  mystic  mistletoe 
Haunted, 

Such  as  the  Druids  cut  down  with  golden  hatchets  at 
Yuh'-tide,  890 

Stood,  secluded  and  still,  the  house  of  the  herdsman. 
A  garden 

Girded  it  round  about  with  a  belt  of  luxuriant  blos- 
soms, 

Filling  the  air  with  fragrance.  The  house  itscdf  was 
of  timbers 

Hewn  from  the  cypress-tree,  and  carefully  fitted  to- 
gether. 

Large  and  low  was  the  roof  ;  and  on  slender  columns 
supported,  895 

itose-wreathed,  vine-encircled,  a  broad  and  spacious 
veranda. 

Haunt  of  the  humming-bird  and  the  bee,  extended 
around  it. 

A.t  each  end  of  the  house,  amid  the  flowers  of  the 
garden. 


I 


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■  i     T  1 

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Bi.    '    '   -1' 

i  a  I 


70         HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Stationed  the  dove-cots  were,  as  love's  perpetual  sym- 
bol, 

Scenes  of  endless  wooing,  and  endless  contentions  of 
rivals.  900 

Silence  reigned  o'er  the  place.  The  line  of  shadow 
and  sunshine 

Ran  near  the  tops  of  the  trees ;  but  the  house  itself 
was  in  shadow. 

And  from  its  chimney-top,  ascending  and  slowly  ex- 
panding 

Into  the  evening  air,  a  thin  blue  column  of  smoke 
rose. 

In  the  rear  of  the  house,  from  the  garden  gate,  ran  a 
pathway  905 

Through  the  great  groves  of  oak  to  the  skirts  of  the 
limitless  prairie. 

Into  whose  sea  of  flowers  the  sun  was  slowly  descend- 

Full  in  his  track  of  light,  like  ships  with  shadowy 

canvas 
Hanging  loose  from  their  spars  in  a  motionless  calm 

in  the  tropics. 
Stood   a   cluster   of   trees,  with   tangled   cordage   of 

grapevines.  910 

Just  where  the  woodlands  met  the  flowery  surf  of 

the  prairie, 
Mounted  upon   his   horse,  with  Spanish  saddle  and 

stirrups. 
Sat  a  herdsman,  arrayed  in  gaiters  and  doublet   of 

deerskin. 
Broad  and  brown  was  the  face  that  from  under  the 

Spanish  sond)rero 
Gazed  on  the  peaceful  scene,  with  the  lordly  look  of 

its  master.  sis 


mGFELLOW. 

ve's  perpetual  sym- 

illess  contentions  of 

900 

riie  line  of  shadow 
>ut  the  house  itself 
ling  and  slowly  ex- 
e  column  of  smoke 
garden  gate,  ran  a 

905 

to  the  skirts  of  the 
was  slowly  descend- 
hips  with  shadowy 
1  a  motionless  calm 
angled  cordage   of 

810 

:he  flowery  surf  of 

Spanish  saddle  and 

rs  and  doublet   of 

at  from  under  the 

the  lordly  look  of 

m 


EVANGELINE. 


71 


Round  about  him  were  numberless  herds  of  kine  that 
were  grazing 

Quietly  in  the  meadows,  and  breathing  the  vapory 
freshness 

That  uprose  from  the  river,  and  spread  itself  over  the 
landscape. 

Slowly  lifting  the  horn  that  hung  at  his  side,  and  ex- 
panding 

Fully  his  broad,  deep  chest,  he  blew  a  blast,  that  re- 
sounded 920 

Wildly  and  sweet  and  far,  through  the  still  damp  air 
of  the  evening. 

Suddenly  out  of  the  grass  the  long  white  horns  of  the 
cattle 

Rose  like  flakes  of  foam  on  the  adverse  currents  of 
ocean. 

Silent  a  moment  they  gazed,  then  bellowing  rushed 
o'er  the  prairie. 

And  the  whole  mass  became  a  cloud,  a  shade  in  the 
distance.  925 

Then,  as  the  herdsman  turned  to  the  house,  through 
the  gate  of  the  garden 

Saw  he  the  forms  of  the  priest  and  the  maiden  ad- 
vancing to  meet  him. 

Suddenly  down  from  his  horse  he  sprang  in  amaze- 
ment, and  forward 

Pushed  with  extended  arms  and  exclamations  of  won- 
der; 

When  they  beheld  his  face,  they  recognized  Basil  the 
blacksmith.  930 

Hearty  his  welcome  was,  as  he  led  his  guests  to  the 
garden. 

There  in  an  arbor  of  rosea  with  endless  question  and 
answer 


' 


f^ 


72 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


i  1 ,     1 


'V  ; 


i    'II 


1  , 


i( 


t  i 


Gave  they  vent  to  tlieir  hearts,  and  renewed  their 

friendly  eiuin'uees, 
Langhing  and  weeping  oy  tnrns,  or  sitting  silent  and 

thouiihtfid. 
Thoughtful,   for  Gabriel   came    not ;    and   now  dark 

doubts  and  misgivings  935 

Stole  o'er  the  maiden's  heart ;  and  Basil,  somewhat 

embarrassed. 
Broke   the    silence   and   said,  "If  you  came  by  the 

Atehafalaya, 
How   have   you    nowhere   encountered   my  Gabriel's 

boat  ou  the  bayous  ?  " 
Over  Evangeline's  face  at  the  words  of  Basil  a  shade 

passed. 
Tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  said,  with  a  trem- 
ulous aeeent,  940 
"Gone?  is  Gabriel  gone?"  and,  concealing  her  face 

on  his  shoulder, 
All  her  o'erburdened  heart  gave  way,  and  she  wept 

and  lamented. 
Then  the  good  Basil  said,  —  and  his  voice  grew  blithe 

as  he  said  it,  — 
"  Be  of  good  cheer,  my  child ;  it  is  only  to-day  he 

departed. 
Foolish  boy !  he  has  left  me  alone  with  my  herds  and 

my  horses.  945 

Moody  and  restless  grown,  and  tried  and  troubled,  his 

spirit 
Could  no  longer  endure  the  calm  of  this  quiet  exis- 
tence. 
Thinking  ever  of  thee,  uncertain  and  sorrowful  ever, 
Ever  silent,  or  speaking  only  of  thee  and  his  troubles, 
He  at  length  had  become  so  tedious  to  men  and  to 

maidens,  sso 


I      I 


INGFELLOW. 
and  renewed  their 


or  sitting  silent  and 


lot;    and   now  dark 

935 

ind  Basil,  somewhat 
f  you  came  by  the 
itered  my  Gabriel's 
rds  of  Basil  a  shade 
he  said,  with  a  trem- 

940 

,  concealing  her  face 

e  way,  and  she  wept 

his  voice  grew  blithe 

it  is  only  to-day  he 

with  my  herds  and 

945 

ied  and  ti'oubled,  his 

[n  of  this  quiet  exis- 

nid  sorrowful  ever, 
lee  and  his  troubles, 
iious  to  men  and  to 

950 


EVANGELINE. 


78 


Tedious  even  to  me,  that  at  length  I  bethought  me,  and 

sent  him 
Unto  the  town  of  Adayes  to  trads  for  mules  with  the 

Spaniards. 
Thence  ho  will  follow  the  Indian  trails  to  the  Ozark 

Mountains, 
Hunting  for  furs  in  the  forests,  on  rivers  trapping  the 

beaver. 
Therefore  be  of  good  cheer ;  wo  will  follow  the  fugi- 
tive lover ;  gw 
He   is   not  far   on   his  way,  and  the  Fates  and  the 

streams  are  against  him. 
Up  and  away  to-morrow,  and  through  the  red  dew  of 

the  morning. 
We  will  follow  him  fast,  and  bring  him  back  to  his 

prison." 

Then   glad  voices  were   heard,  and  up   from   the 

banks  of  the  river. 
Borne  aloft  on  his  comrades'  arms,  came  Michael  the 

fiddler.  oco 

Long  under   Basil's  roof  had  he  lived,  like  a  god  on 

Olympus, 
Having  no  other  care  than  dispensing  music  to  mor- 
tals. 
Far  renowned  was   he   for  his  silver  locks  and  his 

fiddle. 
"Long  live  Michael,"  they  cried,  "our  brave  Acadian 

minstrel !  " 
As  they  bore  him  aloft  in  triumphal  procession ;  and 

straightway  966 

Father  Felician  advanced  with  Evangeline,  greeting 

\  the  old  man 

Kindly  and  oft,  and  recalling  the  past,  while  Basil, 

enraptured, 


''I 


n 


.33^ 


74 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW, 


4i 


I  I 


!       I 


\  1 1 


Hailed  with  liiliirious  joy  his  old  companions  and  gos- 
sips, 

Laughing-  loud  and  long,  and  embracing  mothers  and 
daughters. 

Much  they  uuirvelk;d  to  see  the  wealth  of  the  ci-devant 
blacksniilh,  970 

All  his  domains  and  his  herds,  and  his  patriarchal 
demeanor ; 

Much  they  marvelled  to  hear  his  tales  of  the  soil  and 
the  climate, 

And  of  the  prairies,  whose  numberless  herds  were  his 
who  would  take  them  ; 

Each  one  thouglit  in  his  heart,  that  he,  too,  would  go 
and  do  likewise. 

Thus  they  ascended  the  steps,  and,  crossing  the  breezy 
veranda,  975 

Entered  the  hall  of  the  house,  where  already  the  sup- 
per of  Basil 

Waited  his  late  return ;  and  they  rested  and  feasted 
together. 

Over   the    joyous   feast   the   sudden  darkness   de- 
scended. 

All  was  silent  without,  and,  illuming  the  landscape 

with  silver,  j 

Fair  rose  the  dewy  moon  and  the  myriad  stars ;  but    \ 
within  doors,  980   | 

Brighter  than  these,  shone  the  faces  of  friends  in  the 

glimmering  lamplight.  j 

Then  from  his  station  aloft,  at  the  head  of  the  table, 

the  herdsman  ! 

Poured  forth  his  heart  and  his  wine  together  in  endless 
profusion.  i 

Lighting  his  pipe,  that  was  filled  with  sweet  Natchi- 
toches tobacco, 


)NG  FELLOW, 
jompanions  and  gos- 

Draciiig  motliers  and 

ealth  of  the  ci-devant 

970 

and  his  patriarchal 
tales  of  the  soil  and 
terless  herds  were  his 
iiat  he,  too,  would  go 
1,  crossing  the  breezy 

975 

iiere  already  the  sup- 
ey  rested  and  feasted 


sudden  darkness  de- 
iiniing  the  landscape 
le  myriad  stars;  but 

980 

aces  of  friends  in  the 
he  head  of  the  table, 
ine  together  in  endless 
id  with  sweet  Natchi- 


E  VANG  E  LINE. 


76 


i 


Thus  he  spake  to  his  guests,  who  listened,  and  smiled 

as  tliey  listened  :  —  985 

"  Welcome  once  more,  my  friends,  who  long  have  been 

friendless  and  homeless. 
Welcome   once  more  to  a  home,  that  is  better  per- 
chance tluin  the  old  one  ! 
Here  no  hungry  winter  congeals  our  blood  like  the 

rivers ; 
Here   no   stony  ground   })rovokes  the  wrath   of  the 

farmer ; 
Smoothly  the  ploughshare  runs  through  the  soil,  as  a 

keel  through  the  water.  990 

All  the  year  round  the  orange-groves  are  in  blossom ; 

and  grass  grows 
More  in  a  sin<»le  niuht  than  a  whole  Canadian  summer. 
Here,  too,  numberless  herds  run  wild  and  unclaimed 

in  the  pniirics ; 
Here,  too,  lands   may   be   had   for   the   asking,  and 

forests  of  timber 
With  a  few  blows  of  the  axe  are  hewn  and  framed 

into  houses.  995 

After  your  houses  are  built,  and  your  fields  are  yellow 

with  harvests. 
No  King  George  of  England  shall  drive  you  away  from 

your  homesteads. 
Burning  your  dwellings  and  barns,  and  stealing  your 

farms  and  your  cattle." 
Speaking  these  words,  he  blew  a  wrathful  cloud  from 

his  nostrils. 
While  his  huge,  brown  hand  came  thundering  down 

on  the  table,  1000 

So  that  the  guests  all  started ;  and  Father  Felician, 

astounded. 
Suddenly  paused,  with  a  pinch  of  snuff  half-way  to 

his  nostrils. 


.-^?t 


'  1 1 


I ; 


i  il 


I 


Nil 


,:r^f,„ 


' 


!i         I 


I 


76 


HENRY  WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


But  the  brave  Basil  resiuued,  and  his  words  were 
milder  and  j^ayer  :  — 

"  Only  beware  of  the  fever,  my  friends,  bev^are  of  the 
fever ! 

For  it  is  not  like  that  of  our  cold  Acadian  climate,  1005 

Cured  by  weariuij;'  a  spider  hung  round  one's  neck  in  a 
nutshell ! '" 

Then  there  were  voices  heard  at  the  door,  and  foot- 
steps np})roaehing 

Sounded  upon  the  stairs  and  the  floor  of  the  breezy 
veranda. 

It  was  the  neighboriuf^  Creoles  and  small  Acadian 
planters. 

Who  had  been  summoned  all  to  the  house  of  Basil  the 
herdsman.  1010 

Merry  the  meeting  was  of  ancient  comrades  and 
neighbors : 

Friend  clasped  friend  in  his  arms ;  and  they  who 
before  were  as  strangers. 

Meeting  in  exile,  became  straightway  as  friends  to  each 
other, 

Drawn  by  the  gentle  bond  of  a  common  country 
together. 

But  in  the  neighboring  hall  a  strain  of  music,  pro- 
ceeding 1015 

From  the  accordant  strings  of  Michael's  melodious 
fiddle, 

Broke  up  all  further  speech.  Away,  like  children 
delighted. 

All  things  forgotten  beside,  they  gave  themselves  to 
the  maddening 

Whirl  of  the  dizzy  dance,  as  it  swept  and  swayed  to 
the  music, 

Dreamlike,  with  beaming  eyes  and  the  rush  of  flutter- 
ing garments.  1020 


NGFELLOW. 

11(1  his  words  were 

ends,  beware  of  the 

A^cadian  climate,  1005 
Diiud  one's  neck  in  a 


EVANGELINE. 


77 


I 


;  the  door,  and  foot^ 

e  floor  of  the  breezy      i 

and  small   Acadian 

he  house  of  Basil  the 

1010 

icient  comrades   and 
rms;  and   they  who 
way  as  friends  to  each 
:   a  common  country 
strain  of  music,  pro- 

1015 

Michael's  melodious 

Away,  like  children 

py  gave  themselves  to 

:  swept  and  swayed  to 

md  the  rush  of  flutter- 

1020 


MeanwhiL,  apart,  at  the  head  of  the  hall,  the  priest 

and  the  herdsman 
Sat,  conversing   together   of   past   and   present   and 

future ; 
While  Evangeline  stood  like  one  entranced,  for  within 

her 
Olden  memories  rose,  and  loud  in  the  midst  of  the 

music 
Heard  she  the  sound  of    the    sea,   and    an    irrepres- 
sible sadness  1025 
Came  o'er  Iier  heart,  and  unseen  she  stole  forth  into 

the  garden. 
Beautiful  was  the  night.     Behind  the  black  wall  of 

the  forest. 
Tipping  its  summit  with  silver,  arose  the  moon.     On 

the  river 
Fell  here  and  there  through  the  branches  a  tremulous 

gleam  of  the  moonlight. 
Like  the  sweet  thoughts  of  love  on  a  darkened  and 

devious  spirit.  loao 

Nearer  and  round   about   her,  the   manifold   flowers 

of  the  garden 
Poured  out  their  souls  in  odors,  that  were  their  prayers 

and  confessions 
Unto   the   night,   as   it   went   its  way,  like  a  silent 

Carthusian. 

1033.  The  Carthusians  are  a  monastic  order  founded  in  the 
twelfth  century,  perhaps  the  most  severe  in  its  rules  of  all  reli- 
gious societies.  Almost  perpetual  silence  is  one  of  the  vows;  the 
monks  can  talk  together  but  once  a  week  ;  the  labor  required  of 
them  is  unremitting  and  the  discipline  exceedingly  rigid.  The 
first  monastery  was  established  at  Chartreux  near  Grenoble  in 
France,  and  the  Latinized  form  of  the  name  has  given  us  the 
word  Carthusian. 


■ii 


^i 


I   i  ' 


f^ 


1  I 


;  Sii: 


lil^ 


78         HENRY  WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Fuller  of   fragrance  than  they,  and  as  heavy  with 

shadows  and  night-dews, 
Hung  the  heart  of  the  maiden.     The  calm  and  the 


majrical  moonliiiht 


1033 


Seemed  to  inundate  her  soul  with  indefinable  long- 
ings. 

As,  througli  the  garden  gate,  and  beneath  the  shade 
of  the  oak-trees. 

Passed  she  along  the  path  to  the  edge  of  tlie  measure- 
less prairie. 

Silent  it  lay,  with  a  silvery  haze  upon  it,  and  fire-flies 

Gleaming  and  floating  away  in  mingled  and  infinite 
numbers.  loio 

Over  her  head  the  stars,  the  thoughts  of  God  in  the 
heavens, 

Shone  on  the  eyes  of  man,  who  had  ceased  to  marvel 
and  worship, 

Save  when  a  blazing  comet  was  seen  on  the  walls  of 
that  temple, 

As  if  a  hand  had  apjieared  and  written  upon  them, 
"  Ui)harsin." 

And  the  soul  of  the  maiden,  between  the  stars  and 
the  fire-flies,  1045 

Wandered  alone,  and  she  cried,  "  O  Gabriel !  O  my 
beloved  ! 

Art  thou  so  near  unto  me,  and  yet  I  cannot  behold 
thee  ? 

Art  thou  so  near  unto  me,  and  yet  thy  voice  does  not 
reach  me  ? 

Ah !  how  often  thy  feet  have  trod  this  path  to  the 
prairie  I 

Ah !  how  often  thine  eyes  have  looked  on  the  wood- 
lands around  me  !  loso 

Ah !  how  often  beneath  this  oak,  returning  £rom  labor, 


written  upon  them 


tween  the  stars  and 

1045 

"  O  Gabriel !  O  my 
yet  I  cannot  behold 
et  thy  voice  does  not 
'od  this  path  to  the 
looked  on  the  wood- 

1050 

eturning  from  labor, 


)NG  FELLOW, 

and  as  heavy  with 

The  calm  and  the 

1035 

th  indefinable  long- 
[  beneath  the  shade 


idge  of  tlie  measure-       ^ 

I 

upon  it,  and  fire-flies 
mingled  and  infinite       | 

1040 

ights  of  God  in  the 
lad  ceased  to  marvel 


seen  on  the  walls  of 


EVANGELINE. 


79 


•   I 


Thou  hast  lain  down  to  vest,  and  to  dream  of  me  in 

thy  shimbers! 
When  shall  tliese  eyes  behold,  these  arms  be  folded 

about  thee  ?  " 
Loud  and  sudden  and  near  the  note  of  a  whippoor- 

will  sounded 
Like  a  flute  in  the  woods  ;  and   anon,  through  the 

neighboring  thickets,  loss 

Farther  and  fartlier  away  it  floated  and  dropped  into 

silence. 
"  Patience !  "  whispered  the  oaks  from  oracular  cav- 
erns of  darkness ; 
And,  from    the  moonlit  meadow,  a  sigh  responded, 

"  To-morrow !  " 

Bright  rose  the  sun  next  day ;  and  all  the  flowers 

of  the  garden 
Bathed  his  shining  feet  with  their  tears,  and  anointed 

his  tresses  loeo 

With  the  delicious  balm  that  they  bore  in  their  vases 

of  v-TYStal. 

"Farewell!"  said  the  priest,  as  he  stood  at  the 
shadowy  threshold ; 

"  See  that  you  bring  us  the  Prodigal  Son  from  his 
fasting  and  famine, 

And,  too,  the  Foolish  Virgin,  -vho  slept  when  the 
brideofroom  was  comin"." 

"Farewell !  "  answered  the  maiden,  and,  smiling,  with 
Basil  descended  lo^s 

Down  to  the  river's  brink,  where  the  boatmen  already 
were  waiting. 

Thus  beginning  their  journey  with  morning,  and  sun- 
shine, and  gladness, 

Swiftly  they  followed  the  flight  of  him  who  was  speed- 
ing before  them. 


mmammm 


I  'i 


<•!  li 

■■'  li 


^^  :•  i 


ilM 


I  f 


::4^  f 


If' 


^!i ; 


PC  .1 


tllfii^Ni!^ 


I    ■  I 


41 


'^U 


80        HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW, 

Blown  by  the  blast  of  fatu  like  a  uoad  leaf  over  the 

desert. 
Not  that  day,  nor  the  next,  nor  yet  the  day  that  suc- 

eeeded,  1070 

Found  they  trace  of  his  course,  in  lake  or  forest  or 

river, 
Nor,  after  many  days,  had  they  found  liim  ;  but  vague 

and  uneertain 
Rumors  alone  were  their  guides  through  a  wild  and 

desolate  country  ; 
Till,  at  the  little  inn  of  the  Spanish  town  of  Adayes, 
Weary  and  worn,  the}'^  alighted,  and  learned  from  the 


jrarrulous  landlord 


1075 

That  on  the  day  before,  with  liorses  and  guides  and 

companions, 
Gabriel  left  the   village,  and  took  the   road   of  the 

prairies. 

IV. 

Far  in  the  West  there  lies  a  desert  land,  where  the 

mountains 
Lift,  through  perpetual  snows,  their  lofty  and  lumi- 
nous sunnnits. 
Down   from   their  jagged,  deep  ravines,  where   the 

gorge,  like  a  gateway,  loso 

Opens  a  passage  rude  to  the  wheels  of  the  emigrant's 

wagon. 
Westward  the  Oregon  flows  and  the  Walleway  and 

Owyhee. 
Eastward,  with  devious  course,  among  the  Wind-river 

Mountains, 
Through  the  Sweet- water  Valley  precipitate  leaps  the 

Nebraska ; 
And  to  the    south,  from   Fontaine-qui-bout  and  the 

Spanish  sierras,  loss 


yOFELLOW, 
dead  leaf  over  the 

it  the  day  that  suc- 

1070 

11  lake  or  forest  or 

uid  him  ;  but  vague 

Lhrough  a  wild  and 

sli  town  of  Adayes, 
lid  learned  from  the 

1075 

ses  and  guides  and 
►k  the   road  of  the 


sert  land,  where  the 
leir  lofty  and  lumi- 
ravines,  where  the 

1080 

s  of  the  emigrant's 
the  Walleway  and 


on*!  the  Wind-river 


)r 


ecipitate  leaps  tlie 


le-qui-bout  and  the 

1085 


EVANGELINE. 


81 


Fretted  with  sands  and  rocks,  and  swept  by  the  wind 
of  the  desert. 

Numberless  torrents,  with  ceaseless  sound,  descend  to 
the  ocean. 

Like  the  great  chords  of  a  harp,  in  loud  and  solemn 
vibrations. 

Spreading  bt^twcen  these  streams  are  the  wondrous, 
beautitnl  prairies, 

Billowy  bays  of  grass  ever  rolling  in  shadow  and  sun- 
shine, two 

Bright  with   luxuriant  clusters  of  roses  and  purple 
ainorphas. 

Over  them  wandered  the  buffalo  herds,  and  the  elk 
and  tlie  roebuck; 

Over  them  wandered  the  wolves,  and  herds  of  rider- 
less horses ; 

Fires  that  blast  and  blight,  and  winds  that  are  weary 
with  travel ; 

Over  them  wander  the  scattered  tribes  of  Ishmaers 
children,  1095 

Staining  the  desert  with  blood  ;  and  above  their  terri- 
ble war-trails 

Circles  and  sails  aloft,  on  piaions  majestic,  the  val- 
ture, 

liike  the  implacable  soul  of  a  chieftain  slaughtered 
in  battle, 

By  invisible  stairs  ascendir.g  and  scaling  the  heav- 
ens. 

Here  and  there  rise  smokes  from  the  camps  of  these 
savage  marauders  ;  iioo 

Here  and  there  rise  cjroves  from  the  marfrins  of  swift- 
running  rivers; 

And  the  p-riin,  taciturn  bear,  the  anchorite  monk  of 
the  desert, 


3« 


•fT' 


82        HENRY  WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Climbs  down  tlu'ir  durk  ravines  to  diy  for  roots  by 

the  brook-side, 

And   over   all  is  tiiu  sky,  the   clour  and   crystalline 

licavcn, 

Liko    tlic   i)rotecting*   hand   of   God  inverted    abovo 

them.  U08 


I   I*: 


',  I 


j  ■■ 


Into  this  wonderful  land,  at  the  base  of  the  Ozark 

jMountains, 
Gabriel  far  had  entered,  with  hunters  and  trappers 

behind  him. 
Day  after  day,  with  their  Indian  guides,  the  maiden 

and  Basil 
Followed  his   flying  steps,  and  thought  each  day  to 

o'ertake  him. 
Sometimes  they  saw,  or  thought  they  saw,  the  smoke 

of  his  eami)-fire  mo 

Rise  in  the  morning  air  from  the  distant  jdain  ;   but 

at  nightfall. 
When  they  had  reached  the  jilace,  they  found  only 

end)ers  and  ashes. 
And,  though  their  heai ''^  were  sad  at  times  and  their 

bodies  were  weary, 
Hope  still  guided  them  on,  as  the  mtigie  Fata  Morgana 
Showed  them  her  lakes  of  light,  that  retreated  and 

vanished  before  them.  lus 

1114.  The  Italian  name  for  a  meteoric  plionomenon  nearly 
allied  to  a  mirage,  witnessed  in  the  Straits  (d"  Messina,  and  less 
freqnently  elsewhere,  and  consisting  in  the  appearance  in  the 
air  over  the  sea  of  the  objects  which  are  upon  the  neigliboring 
coasts.  In  the  sonthwest  of  our  own  country,  the  mirage  is  very 
common,  of  lakes  which  stretch  before  the  tired  traveller,  and 
the  deception  is  so  great  that  parties  have  sometimes  beckoned 
to  other  travellers,  who  seemed  to  be  wading  kuee-deep,  to  come 
over  to  them  where  dry  laud  was. 


IN  G  FELLOW. 
to  di<i'  for  roots  bj 

ciir   and   crystalliuo 

jod    inverted    abovo 

1105 

0  base  of  the  Ozark 
miters  and  trappers 
.  guides,  the  maiden 
lionght  eacli  day  to 
they  saw,  tlic  smoke 

1110 

distant  plain ;  but 

ice,  they  found  only 

d  at  times  and  their 

mnii'ic  Fata  Morgana 
,  that  retreated  and 

1115 

orie  plirnonionon  nearly 
vlts  of  I\I(>ssiiia,  and  loss 
I  the  appejiraiico  in  the 
ro  upon  tlie  neighboring 
untrv,  the  mirage  is  very 
the  tired  traveller,  and 
ave  sometimes  beckoned 
iding  knee-deep,  to  come 


EVANGELINE. 


Once,  as  they  sat  by  their  evening  fire,  there  silently 

enteietl 
Into  the  little  camp  an  Indian  woman,  wliose  ftaturos 
Wore  dcej)  traces  of  sorrow,  and  i)atience  as  great  as 

her  soi-row. 
She  was  a  Shawnee  woman  returning  liome  to  her 

peo])le, 
From  the  far-off   hunting-grounds  of   the   cruel  Ca- 

manehes,  1120 

Where    her    Canadian    husband,    a   coureur-des-bois, 

had  been  murdered. 
Touched  were  tlieir  hearts  at  her  story,  and  warmest 

and  friendliest  welcome 
Gave    they,  with  words  of    cheer,  and   she   sat   and 

feasted  anion ii'  them 
On  the  buffalo-meat  and  the  venison  cooked  on  the 

embers. 
But  when  their  meal  was  done,  and  Basil  and  all  his 


companions, 


1135 


Worn  with  the  long  day's  march  and  the  chase  of  the 
deer  and  the  bison, 

Stretched  themselves  on  the  ground,  and  slept  where 
tlie  quivering  fire-light 

Flashed  on  their  swarthy  cheeks,  and  their  forms 
wrap])ed  up  in  their  blankets, 

Then  at  the  door  of  Evangeline's  tent  she  sat  and  re- 
peated 

Slowly,  with  soft,  low  voice,  and  the  charm  of  her  In- 
dian accent,  1130 

All  the  tale  of  her  love,  with  its  pleasures,  and  pains, 
and  reverses. 

Much  Evangeline  wept  at  the  tale,  and  to  know  that 
another 

Hapless  heart  like  her  own  had  loved  and  had  been 
disappointed. 


r 


84        HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Moved  to  the  depths  of  her  soul  by  pity  and  woman's 

compassion, 
Yet  in  her  sorrow  pleased  that  one  who  had  suffered 

was  near  her,  na 

She  in  turn  rc'lated  lier  love  and  all  its  disasters. 
Mute  with  wonder  the  Shawnee  sat,  and  when  she  had 

ended 
Still  was  nuite  ;  but  at  length,  as  if  a  mysterious  hor- 
ror 
Passed  through  her  brain,  she  si)ake,  and  repeated  the 

tale  of  the  Mowis ; 
Mowis,  the  bridegroom  of  snow,  who  won  and  wedded 

a  maiden,  n4o 

But,  when  the  morning  came,  arose  and  passed  from 

the  wigwam, 
Fading  and  melting  away  and  dissolving  into  the  sun- 
shine. 
Till  she  beheld  him  no  more,  though  she  followed  far 

into  the  forest. 
Then,  in  those  sweet,  low  tones,  that  seemed  like  a 

weird  incantation. 
Told  she  the  tale  of  the  fair  Lilinau,  who  was  wooed 

by  a  })hantom,  n45 

That,  through  the  pines  o'er  her  father's  lodge,  in  the 

luish  of  the  twilight, 
Breathed  like  the  evening  wind,  and  whispered  love  to 

the  maiden, 
Till  she  followed  his  green  and  waving  ])lume  through 

the  forest, 
And  nevermore  returned,  nor  was  seen  again  by  her 

people. 

1145.  The  story  of  Lilinau  and  other  Indian  legends  will  be 
found  in  H.  K.  Schooluraft's  Algic  Researches. 


NG  FELLOW. 

y  pity  and  woman's 

e  who  had  suffered 

u» 

11  its  disasters. 

,t,  and  when  she  had 

if  a  mysterious  hor- 

ke,  and  repeated  the 

dio  won  and  wedded 

1140 

>se  and  passed  from 


solving  into  the  sun- 


uoh  she  followed  far 


that  seemed  like  a 
nau,  who  was  wooed 

1145 

'ather's  lodge,  in  the 
Lid  whispered  love  to 
Lving  plume  through 
s  seen  again  by  her 


•  Indian  legends  will  be 
rchea. 


EVANGELINE. 


85 


\ 


Silent  with  wonder  and  strange  fsurprise,  Evangeline 
listened  ii5o 

To  the  soft  How  of  her  magical  words,  till  the  region 
around  her 

Seemed  like  enchanted  ground,  and  her  swarthy  guest 
the  enchantress. 

Slowly  over  the  tops  of  the  Ozark  ^Mountains  the 
moon  rose. 

Lighting  the  little  tent,  and  with  a  m3'sterious  splen- 
dor 

Touching  the  sombre  leaves,  and  embracing  and  filling 
the  woodland.  ii5j 

With  a  delicious  sound  the  brook  rushed  by,  and  the 
branches 

Swayed  and  sighed  overhead  in  scarcely  audible  whis- 
pers. 

Filled  with  the  thoughts  of  love  was  Evangeline's 
heart,  but  a  secret, 

Subtile  sense  crept  in  of  pain  and  indofmito  terror, 

As  the  cold,  poisonous  snake  creeps  into  the  nest  of 
the  swallow.  iieo 

It  was  no  earthly  fear.  A  breath  from  the  region  of 
spirits 

Seemed  to  float  in  the  air  of  night ;  and  she  felt  for  a 
moment 

That,  like  the  Indian  maid,  she,  too,  was  pursuing  a 
phantom. 

With  this  thought  she  slept,  and  the  fear  and  the 
phantom  had  vanished. 

Early  upon  the  morrow  the  march  was  resumed,  and 
the  Shawnee  ncs 

Said,  as  they  journeyed  along,  —  "  On  the  western 
slope  of  these  mountains 


p 


►:•■ 


l\ 


v'' 


!:!; 


•Ir 


!f;- 


it 


i 


'     : 


;t 


Iii!    ^'^ 


!  i 


I    I 


^t 


ii!:^; 


Ill      111! 


k^ 


86 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Dwells  in  his  little  village  the  Black  Robe  chief  of 

the  Mission. 
Much  he  teaches  the  people,  and  tells  them  of  Mary 

and  Jesus  ; 
Loud  laugh  their  hearts  with  joy,  and  weep  with  pain, 

as  they  hear  him." 
Then,  with  a  sudden  and  secret  emotion,  Evangeline 

answered,  uto, 

"  Let  us  go  to   the  Mission,  for   there  good  tidings 

await  us !  " 
Thither  they  turned  their  steeds  ;  and  behind  a  spur 

of  the  mountains. 
Just  as  the  sun  went  down,  they  heard  a  murmur  of 

voices. 
And  in  a  meadow  green  and  broad,  by  the  bank  of  a 

river, 
Saw  the  tents  of  the  Christians,  the  tents  of  the  Jesuit 

Mission.  mo 

Under  a  towering  oak,  that  stood  in  the  midst  of  the 

village. 
Knelt  the  Black  Robe  chief  with  his  children.     A 

crucifix  fastened 
High  on  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  overshadowed  by 

grapevines, 
Looked  with  its  agonized  face  on  the  multitude  kneel- 
ing beneath  it. 
This  was  their  rural  chapel.     Aloft,  through  the  intri- 
cate arches  uso 
Of  its  aerial  roof,  arose  the  chant  of  their  vespers. 
Mingling  its  notes  with  the  soft  susurrus  and  sighs  of 

the  branches. 
Silent,  with  heads  uncovered,  the   travellers,  nearer 

approaching, 
Knelt  on  the  swarded  floor,  and  joined  in  the  evening 

devotions. 


ONGFELLOW. 
Black  Robe  chief  of 

1  tells  them  of  Mary 

,  and  weep  with  pain, 

emotion,  Evangeline 

1170, 

p   there  good  tidings 

;  and  behind  a  spur 

heard  a  murmur  of 

lad,  by  the  bank  of  a 

he  tents  of  the  Jesuit 

1175 

i  in  the  midst  of  the 
ith  his  children.  A 
nd  overshadowed  by 
the  multitude  kneel- 
)ft,  through  the  intri- 


EVANGELINE. 


87 


1180 


}  ol  their  vespers, 
msurrus  and  sighs  of 

le   travellers,  nearer 

joined  in  the  evening 


But  when  the  service  was  done,  and  the  benediction 
had  fallen  iiss 

Forth  from  tlie  hands  of  the  priest,  like  seed  from  the 
hands  of  the  sower, 

Slowlv  the  reverend  iiuui  advanced  to  the  strangers, 
and  bade  them 

Welcome ;  and  when  they  replied,  he  smiled  with  be- 
nignant expression, 

Hearing  the  homelike  sounds  of  his  mother-tongue  in 
the  forest, 

And,  with  words  of  kindness,  conducted  them  into  his 


wigwam. 


1190 


There  upo^^  mats  and  skins  they  reposed,  and  on  cakes 
of  the  maize-ear 

Feasted,  and  slaked  their  thirst  from  the  water-gourd 
of  the  teacher. 

Soon  was  their  story  told ;  and  the  priest  with  solem- 
nity answered  :  ~ 

"Not  six  suns  have  risen  and  set  since  Gabriel,  seated 

On  this  mat  by  my  side,  where  now  the  maiden  re- 
poses, 1195 

Told  me  this  same  sad  tale ;  then  arose  and  continued 
his  journ(\y ! " 

Soft  was  the  voice  of  the  priest,  and  he  spake  with  an 
accent  of  kindness  ; 

But  on  Evangeline's  heart  fell  his  words  as  in  winter 
the  snow-flakes 

Fall  into  some  lone  nest  from  which  the  birds  have 
departed. 

"  Far  to  the  north  he  has  gone,"  continued  the  priest ; 
"  but  in  autumn,  i2oo 

When  the  chase  is  done,  will  return  again  to  the  Mis- 


sion. 


5> 


Then  Evangeline  said,  and  her  voice  was  meek  and 
submissive, 


88 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


"  Let  me  remain  with  thee,  for  my  soul  is  sad  and  af- 
flicted." 

So  seemed  it  wise  and  well  unto  all ;  and  betimes  on 
the  morrov;, 

Mounting'  his  Mexican  steed,  with  his  Indian  guides 
and  companions,  1203 

Homewnrd  j*asil  returned,  and  Evangeline  stayed  at 
the  Mission. 

Slowly,   slowly,   slowly   the    days   succeeded  each 

other,  — 
Days  and  weeks  and  months ;  and  the  fields  of  maize 

that  were  springing 
Green  from  the  ground  when  a  stranger  she  came, 

now  waving  about  her, 
Lifted   their  slender  shafts,  with  leaves   interlacing, 

and  forming  1210 

Cloisters  for  mendicant  crows  and  granaries  pillaged 

by  squirrels. 
Then  in  the  golden  weather   the  maize  was  husked, 

and  the  maidens 
Blushed  at  each  blood-red  ear,  for  that  betokened  a 

lover. 
But  at  the  crooked  laughed,  and  called  it  a  thief  in 

the  corn-neld. 
Even  the  blood-red  ear  to  Evangeline  brought  not  her 

lover.  1215 

"  Patience  !  "  the  priest  w^ould  say ;  "  have  faith,  and 

thy  prayer  will  be  answered  I 
Look  at  this  vigorous  plant  that  lifts  its  head  from 

the  meadow, 
See  how  its  leaves  are  turned  to  the  north,  as  true  as 

the  magnet ; 


TGFELLOW. 
soul  is  sad  and  af- 

11 ;  and  betimes  on 

,  his  Indian  guides 

1205 

rangeline  stayed  at 


lys   succeeded  each 
I  the  fields  of  maize 


stranger  she  came, 


leaves   interlacing, 

1210 

d  j^ranaries  pillaged 


maize  was  husked,    " 
or  that  betokened  a    ] 

t 

I  called  it  a  thief  in    ^ 
jline  brought  not  her 

1215 

ly  ;  "  have  faith,  and 

nd! 

t  lifts  its  head  from 

the  north,  as  true  as 


EVANGELINE. 


89 


This  is  the  compass-flower,  that  the  finger  of  God  has 

planted 
Here  in  the  houseless  wild,  to  direct   the  traveller's 

journey  1220 

Over  the    sea-like,    pathless,   limitless   waste   of  the 

desert. 
Such  in  the  soul  of  man  is  faith.     The  blossoms  of 

passion, 
Gay  and  luxuriant  flowers,  are  brigliter  and  fuller  of 

fragrance, 
But  they  beguile  us,  and  lead  us  astrny,  and  their 

odor  is  deadly. 
Only  this  humble  plant  can  guide  us  here,  and  here- 
after 1225 
Crown  us  with  asphodel  flowers,  that  are  wet  with  the 

dews  of  nepenthe." 

So  came  the  autumn,  and  passed,  and  the  winter  — 

yet  Gabriel  came  not ; 
Blossomed  the  opening  spring,  and  the  notes  of  the 

robin  and  bUiebird 
Sounded  sweet  upon  wold  and  in  wood,  yet  Gabriel 

came  not. 
But  on  the  breath  of  the  summer  winds  a  rumor  was 

wafted  1220 

1219.  Silphium  laciniatum  or  compass-plant  is  found  on  the 
prairies  of  Michigan  and  Wisconsin  and  to  the  south  and  west, 
and  is  said  to  present  the  edges  of  the  lower  leaves  due  north 
and  south. 

1226.  In  early  Greek  poetry  the  asphodel  meadows  were 
haunted  hy  the  shades  of  heroes.  ISee  Homer's  Odyssey,  xxiv. 
13,  where  Pope  translates  :  — 

"  In  ever  flowering  meada  of  A=!phodel." 
The  asphodel  is  of  the  lily  fau:ily,  and  is  known  also  hy  the 
name  king's  spear. 


ff""'"   m 


I  :1 


I! 


ill' 


;  '^1    ! 


I'll   ;. 


I 


1|:     :    I 


i  I 


90        HENRY  WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Sweeter  than  song  of  bird,  or  hue  or  odor  of  blos- 
som. 

Far  to  the  north  and  east,  it  said,  in  the  Michigan 
forests, 

Gabriel  had  his  lodge  by  the  banks  of  the  Saginaw 
Kiver. 

And,  with  returning  guides,  that  sought  the  lakes  of 
St.  Lawrence, 

Saying  a  sad  farewell,  Evangeline  went  from  the  Mis- 
sion. 1235 

When  over  weary  ways,  by  long  and  perilous 
marches, 

She  had  attained  at  length  the  depths  of  the  Michigan 
forests. 

Found  she  tl  hunter's  lodge  deserted  and  fallen  to 
ruin  I 

Thus  did  the  long  sad  years  glide  on,  and  in  sea- 
sons and  places 
Divers   and    distant    far   was    seen    the    wandering 

maiden  ;  —  1210 

Now  in  the  Tents  of  Grace  of  the  meek  Moravian 

Missions, 
Now  in  the  noisy  camps  and  the  battle-fields  of  the 

army. 
Now   in   secluded   hamlets,    in   towns   and   populous 

cities. 
Like  a  phantom  she  came,  and  passed  away  unremem- 

bered. 
Fair  was  she  and  young,  when  in  hope  began  the  long 

journey ;  1248 

Faded  was  she  and  old,  when  in  disappointment  it 

ended. 
1241.  A  rendering  of  the  Moravian  Gnadeuhiitten. 


TG  FELLOW. 

e  or  odor  of  blos- 

l,  in  the  Michigan 


iks  of  the  Saginaw 


ouffht  the  lakes  of 


went  from  the  Mia- 

1235 

ong    and    perilous 


ths  of  the  Michigan 


ierted  and  fallen  to 


^lide  on,  and  in  sea- 


EVANGELINE. 


91 


en    the    wandering 

12  to 

the  meek  Moravian 


battle-fields  of  the 


)wns   and   populous 


I 


jsed  away  unremem- 
lope  began  the  long 

1245 

disappointment  it 
in  Gnadeuhiitten. 


Each  succeeding  year  stole  something  away  from  her 
beauty, 

Leaving  behind  it,  broader  and  deeper,  the  gloom  and 
the  shadow. 

Then  there  ap})eared  and  spread  faint  streaks  of  gray 
o'er  her  forehead. 

Dawn  of  another  life,  that  broke  o'er  her  earthly  hor- 
izon, 1250 

As  in  the  eastern  sky  the  first  faint  streaks  of  the 
morning. 

V. 

In  that  delightful  land  which  is  washed  by  the  Dela- 
ware's waters, 

Guarding  in  sylvan  shades  the  name  of  Penn  the 
apostle, 

Stands  on  the  banks  of  its  beautiful  stream  the  city 
he  founded. 

There  all  the  air  is  balm,  and  the  peach  is  the  emblem 
of  beauty,  1255 

And  the  streets  still  reecho  the  names  of  the  trees  of 
the  forest. 

As  if  thc)^  fain  would  appease  the  Dryads  whose 
haunts  they  molested. 

There  from  the  troubled  sea  had  Evangeline  landed, 
an  exile. 

Finding  amonsj  th^  children  of  Penn  a  home  and  a 
country. 

There  old  Rene  Leblanc  had  died;  and  when  he 
departed,  1260 

Saw  at  his  side  only  one  of  all  his  hundred  descend- 
ants. 

1256,  The  streets  of  Philadelphia,  as  is  well  known,  are  many 
of  them,  especially  those  running  east  and  west,  named  for  trees, 
as  Chestnut,  Walnut,  Locust,  Spruce,  Pine,  etc. 


'•'  I.' 


Jli 


f    " 


Mi  ii 


'!   M 


I:, 

Ml  !  • 


I 


*         ,     I 


.■:'i 


92 


HENRY  WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Something  at  least  there  was  iu  the  friendly  streets  of 
the  city, 

Something  that  spake  to  her  heart,  and  made  her  no 
longer  a  stranger  ; 

And  her  ear  was  i)leased  with  the  Thee  and  Thou  of 
the  Quakers, 

For  it  recalled  the  past,  the  old  Acadian  country,     i265 

Where  all  men  were  equal,  and  all  were  brothers  and 
sisters. 

So,  when  the  fruitless    search,  the   disappointed  en- 
deavor, 

Ended,  to  recommence  no  more  upon  earth,  uncom- 
plaining, 

Thither,    as   leaves   to   the    light,    were    turned    her 
thoughts  and  her  footstej^s. 

As  from  a  mountain's  top  the  rainy  mists  of  the  morn- 
m<x      .  1270 

Roll  away,  and  afar  we  behold  the  landscape  below  us, 

Sun-illumined,  with  shining  rivers  and  cities  and  ham- 
lets, 

So   fell  the  mists  from  her  mind,  and  she  saw  the 
world  far  below  her, 

Dark  no  longer,  but  all  illumined  with  love ;  and  the 
pathway 

Which  she  had  climbed  so  far,  lying  smooth  and  fair 
in  the  distance.  1275 

Gabriel  was  not  forgotten.     Within  her  heart  was  his 
image. 

Clothed  in  the  beauty  of  love  and  youth,  as  last  she 
beheld  him, 

Only  more  beautiful  made  by  his  deathlike  silence  and 
absence. 

Into  her  thoughts  of  him  time  entered  not,  for  it  was 
not. 


NG  FELLOW. 

e  friendly  streets  of 

b,  and  made  her  no 

5  Thee  and  Thou  of 

cadian  country,     i26s 
1  were  brothers  and 

be   disappointed  en- 

upon  earth,  uncom- 

,   were    turned    her 

ly  mists  of  the  morn- 

1270 

1  landscape  below  us, 
I  and  cities  and  ham- 


EVANGELINE. 


98 


d,  and  she  saw  the 
.  with  love ;  and  the 


\ 


ins:  smooth  and  fair    J 


1275 


« 


Clin  her  heart  was  his 
d  youth,  as  last  she     j 

i 

deathlike  silence  and    j 

! 

ntered  not,  for  it  was    | 


Over  him  years  had  no  power ;  he  was  not  changed, 

but  transfigured ;  mo 

He  had  become  to  her  heart  as  one  who  is  dead,  and 

not  absent ; 
Patience  and  abnegation  of  self,  and  devotion  to  others, 
This  was  the  lesson  a  life  of  trial  and  sorrow  hud 

taught  her. 
So  was  her  love  diffused,  but,  like  to  some  odorous 

spices, 
Suffered  no  waste  nor  loss,  though  filling  the  air  with 

aroma.  1235 

Other  hope  had  she  none,  nor  wish  in  life,  but  to  follow. 
Meekly  with  reverent   steps,  the  sacred  feet  of  her 

Saviour. 
Thus  m'any  years  she  lived  as  a  Sister  of  Mercy ;  fre- 
quenting 
Lonely  and  wretched  roofs  in  the  crowded  lanes  of 

the  city, 
Where  distress  and  want  concealed  themselves  from 

the  sunlight,  1290 

Where  disease  and  sorrow  in  garrets  languished  neg- 
lected. 
Night  after  night  when  the  world  was  asleep,  as  the 

watchman  repeated 
Loud,  through  the  gusty  streets,  that  all  was  well  in 

the  city. 
High  at  some  lonely  window  he  saw  the  light  of  her 

taper. 
Day  after  day,  in   the   gray  of  the  dawn,  as  slow 

through  the  suburbs  1295 

Plodded  the  German  farmer,  with  flowers  and  fruits 

for  the  market. 
Met  he  tliat  meek,  pale  face,  returning  home  from  its 

watchings. 


M  i-ii 


94        HENRY  WADSWORTII  LONGFELLOW. 

Then  it  came  to  pass  that  a  pestilence  fell  on  the 
cit}', 

Presaged  by  wondrous  signs,  and  mostly  by  flocks  of 
wild  i)igeons, 

Darkening  tlie  sun  in  their  flight,  with  naught  in  their 
craws  but  an  acoj'n.  1300 

And,  as  the  tides  of  the  sea  arise  in  the  month  of  Sep- 
tember, 

Flooding  some  silver  stream,  till  it  spreads  to  a  lake 
in  the  meadow. 

So  death  flooded  life,  and,  o'erflowing  its  natural  mar- 
gin, 

Spread  to  a  brackish  lake  the  silver  stream  of  ex- 
istence. 

Wealth  had  no  power  to  bribe,  nor  beauty  to  charm, 
the  oppressoi' ;  laos 

But  all  perished  alike  beneath  the  scourge  of  his 
anger ; — 

Only,  alas  !  the  poor,  who  had  neither  friends  nor  at- 
tendants. 

Crept  away  to  die  in  the  almshouse,  home  of  the 
homeless. 

Then  in  the  suburbs  it  stood,  in  the  midst  of  meadows 
and  woodlands  ;  — 


V  -■ 


vMl 


1298.  The  year  1793  was  long  reiuenibered  as  the  year  when 
yellow  fever  was  a  terrible  pestilence  in  Philadelphia.  Charles 
Broclcden  Brown  made  his  novel  of  Arthur  Mervyn  turn  largely 
upon  the  incidents  of  the  plague,  which  drove  Brown  away  from 
home  for  a  time. 

1303.  Philadelphians  have  identified  the  old  Friends'  alms- 
house on  Walnut  Street,  now  no  longer  standing,  as  that  in  which 
Evangeline  ministered  to  Gabriel,  and  so  real  was  the  story  that 
some  even  ventured  to  point  out  the  graves  of  the  two  lovers. 
See  Westcott's  The  Historic  Mansions  of  Philadelphia,  pp.  101, 
102. 


VGFELLOW. 
itilenee  fell  on  the 

mostly  by  flocks  of 

^itli  naught  in  their 

1300 

I  the  month  of  Sep- 
t  spreads  to  a  lake 


ng  its  natural  mar- 


Iver  stream  of   ex- 


>r  beauty  to  charm, 

1309 

:he   scourge  of   his 


ther  friends  nor  at- 


)use,   home  of   the 


)  midst  of  meadows 


oered  as  the  year  when 
Philiulelphia.  Charles 
ir  Mervijn  turn  largely 
I'ove  Brown  away  from 

;he  old  Friends'  alms- 
mding,  as  that  in  which 
real  was  the  story  that 
,ves  of  the  two  lovers. 
■  Philadelphia f  pp.  101, 


EVANGELINE. 


95 


Now  the  city  surrounds  it ;  but  still,  with  its  gateway 
and  wicket  laio 

Meek,  in  the  midst  of  splendor,  its  humble  walls  seem 
to  echo 

Softly  tlie  words  of  the  Lord :  — "  The  poor  ye  al- 
ways have  with  you." 

Thither,  by  night  and  by  day,  crame  the  Sister  of 
Mercy.     The  dying 

Looked  up  into  her  face,  and  thought,  indeed,  to  be- 
hold tliere 

Gleams  of  celestial  light  encircle  her  forehead  with 
splendor,  mm 

Such  as  the  artist  paints  o'er  the  brows  of  saints  and 
apostles, 

Or  such  as  hangs  by  night  o'er  a  city  seen  at  a  distance. 

Unto  their  eyes  it  seemed  the  lamps  of  the  city  celes- 
tial. 

Into  whose  shining  gates  erelong  their  spirits  would 
enter. 

Thus,  on  a  Sabbath  morn,  through  the  streets,  de- 
serted and  silent,  1320 

Winding  her  quiet  way,  she  entered  the  door  of  the 
almshouse. 

Sweet  on  the  summer  air  was  the  odor  of  flowers  in 
the  garden. 

And  she  paused  on  her  way  to  gather  the  fairest 
among  them. 

That  the  dying  once  more  might  rejoice  in  their  fra- 
grance and  beauty. 

Then,  as  she  mounted  the  stairs  to  the  corridors, 
cooled  by  the  east->vind,  1325 

Distant  and  soft  on  her  ear  fell  the  chimes  from  the 
belfry  of  Christ  Church, 


i 


!:■' 


m 


Tin 


i|'    ' 


■  i    .     m. 


m 


I*    " 

t 


m 


H 


1(1!  i^  'f  i 


1       ; 


96        HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW, 

While,  interiniiigled  with  these,  across  the  meadows 

\vei(5  watted 
Sounds  of  psidins,  that  were  sung  by  the  Swedes  in 

th(;ir  church  at  Wicaco. 
Soft  as  descendiug-  wings  fell  the  calm  of  the  hour  on 

lier  spirit ; 
Something  within  her  said,  "  At  length  thy  trials  are 

ended  ; "  isao 

And,  with  liglit  in  her  looks,  she  entered  the  cham- 
bers of  sickness. 
Noiselessly  moved  about  the  assiduous,  careful  attend- 
ants. 
Moistening  the  feverish  lip,  and  the  aching  brow,  and 

in  silence 
Closing  the  sightless  eyes  of  the  dead,  and  concealing 

their  faces. 
Where  on  their  pallets  they  lay,  like  drifts  of  snow 

by  the  roadside.  uu 

Many  a  languid  head,  upraised  as  Evangeline  entered, 
Turned  on  its  pillow  of  pain  to  gaze  while  she  passed, 

for  her  presence 
Fell  on  their  liearts  like  a  ray  of  the  sun  on  the  walls 

of  a  prison. 
And,  as  she  looked  around,  she  saw  how  Death,  the 

consoler. 
Laying  his  hand  upon  many  a  heart,  had  healed  it 

forever.  ism 


1328.  The  Swedes'  church  at  Wicaco  is  still  standings,  the 
oldest  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  having  been  begun  in  1698. 
Wicaco  is  within  the  city,  on  the  banks  of  the  Delaware  River. 
An  interesting  account  of  the  old  church  and  its  historic  associa- 
tions will  be  found  in  Westcott's  book  just  mentioned,  pp.  56-67. 
Wilson  the  ornithologist  lies  buried  iu  the  churchyard  adjoinicg 
the  church. 


^'G  FELLOW, 
[ii'oss  the  meadows 

by  the  Swedes  in 

Lihii  of  the  hour  on 

ngtli  thy  trials  are 

1330 

entered  the  cham- 
Diis,  careful  attend- 
3  aching  brow,  and 
;ad,  and  concealing 
ike  drifts  of  snow 

1332 

Evangeline  entered, 
e  while  she  passed, 

le  sun  on  the  walls 

iw  how  Death,  the 

3art,  had  healed  it 

1340 

is  still  standings,  the 

been  begun  in  1698. 

f  the  Delaware  River. 

ncl  its  historic  associa- 

mentioned,  pp.  56-67. 

churchyard  adjoining 


EVANGELINE. 


97 


Many  familiar  forms  had  disappeared  in  the  night 

time  ; 
Vacant  their  places  were,  or  filled  already  by  strangers. 

Suddenly,  as  if  arrested   by  fear  or  a  feeling  of 

wonder. 
Still  she  stood,  with  her  colorless  lips  apart,  while  a 

shudder 
Ran  through  her  frame,  and,  forgotten,  the  llowerets 

dropped  from  her  lingers,  1345 

And  from  her  eyes  and  cheeks  the  light  and  bloom  of 

the  morning. 
Then  there  escaped  from  her  lips  a  cry  of  such  terri- 
ble anguish, 
That  the  dying  heard  it,  and  started  up  from  their 

pillows. 
On  the  pallet  before  her  was  stretched  the  form  of  an 

old  man. 
Long,  and  thin,  and  gray  were  the  locks  that  shaded 

his  temi)les ;  1350 

But,  as  he  lay  in  the  morning  light,  his  face  for  a 

moment 
Seemed  to  assume  once  more  the  ^jrms  of  its  earlier 

manhood ; 
So  are  wont  to  be  changed  the  faces  of  those  who  are 

dying. 
Hot  and  red  on  his  lips  still  burned  the  flush  of  the 

fever. 
As  if  life,  like  the  Hebrew,  with  blood  had  besprinkled 

its  portals,  1355 

That  the  Angel  of  Death  might  see  the  sign,  and  pass 

over. 
Motionless,   senseless,  dying,   he  lay,  and  his  spirit 

exhausted 


i'-IIT" 


9§ 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


"     i 


:r  i:: 


i|r:l-  ! 


1 1  i:l 


Seemed  to  be  sinking  down  through  infinite  depths  in 

the  darkness, 
Darkness  of  shmiber  and  death,  forever  sinking  and 

sinking. 
Then  through  those  realms  of  shade,  in  multiplied 

reverberations,  i360 

Heard  he  that  cry  of  pain,  and  through  the  hush  that 

succeeded 
Whispered  a  gentle  voice,  in  accents  tender  and  saint- 
like, 
"  Gabriel  I  O  my  beloved ! "    and  died  away  into  si- 
lence. 
Then  he  beheld,  in  a  dream,  once  more  the  home  of 

his  childhood ; 
Green  Acadian  meadows,  with  sylvan   rivers  among 

them,  1365 

Village,  and  mountain,  and  woodlands;  and,  walking 

under  their  shadow, 
A&  in  the  days  of  her  youth,  Evangeline  rose  in  his 

vision. 
Tears  came  into  his  eyes ;  and  as  slowly  he  lifted  his 

eyelids, 
Vanished  the  vision  away,  but  Evangeline  knelt  by  his 

bedside. 
Vainly  he  strove  to  whisper  her  name,  for  the  accents 

unuttered  1370 

Died  on  his  lips,  and  their  motion  revealed  what  his 

tongue  would  have  spoken. 
Vainly  he  strove  to  rise;   and  Evangeline,  kneeling 

beside  him. 
Kissed  his  dying  lips,  and  laid  his  head  on  her  bosom. 
Sweet  was  the  light  of  his  eyes ;  but  it  suddenly  sank 

into  darkness, 
As  when  a  lamp  is  blown  out  by  a  gust  of  wind  at  a 

casement.  1375 


NG  FELLOW. 

;h  infinite  depths  in 


orever  sinking  and 


lade,  in  multiplied 

1360 

•ough  the  hush  that 
ts  tender  and  saint- 
died  away  into  si- 
!  more  the  home  of 
Ivan   rivers  among 

1365 

mds;  and,  walking 
-ngeline  rose  in  his 
slowly  he  lifted  his 
iigeline  knelt  by  his 
ime,  for  the  accents 

1870 

I  revealed  what  his 

v^angeline,  kneeling 

head  on  her  bosom, 
ut  it  suddenly  sank 

I  gust  of  wind  at  a 

1376 


EVANGELINE. 


99 


All  was  ended  now,  the  hope,  and  the  fear,  and  the 

sorrow, 
All    the    aching    of   heart,    the    restless,    unsatisfied 

longing. 
All   the   dull,   deep    pain,  and   constant   anguish   of 

patience ! 
And,  as  she  pressed  once  more  the  lifeless  head  to  her 

bosom. 
Meekly  she  bowed  her  own,  and  murmured,  *'  Father, 

I  thank  thee  I  "  laao 


Still  stands  the  forest  primeval ;  but  far  away  from 
its  shadow. 

Side  by  side,  in  their  nameless  graves,  the  lovers  are 
sleeping. 

Under  the  humble  walls  of  the  little  Catholic  church- 
yard. 

In  the  heart  of  the  city,  they  lie,  unknown  and  un- 
noticed. 

Daily  the  tides  of  life  go  ebbing  and  flowing  beside 
them,  1385 

Thousands  of  throbbing  hearts,  where  theirs  are  at 
rest  and  forever. 

Thousands  of  aching  brains,  where  theirs  no  longer 
are  busy. 

Thousands  of  toiling  hands,  where  theirs  have  ceased 
from  their  labors. 

Thousands  of  weary  feet,  where  theirs  have  completed 
their  journey  I 

Still   stands  the  forest   primeval ;   but   under  the 

shade  of  its  branches  isdo 

Dwells  another  race,  with  other  customs  and  langTiage. 


I:       i 


<l     i 


ill 


[ 


':    I 


J 


if  I 


100      HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

Ouly   along  the   shore   of  the  mournful  and  misty 

Atlantic 
Linger  a  few  Acadian  peasants,  whose  fathers  from 

exile 
Wanderjd  back  to   their  native  land  to  die  in  its 

bosom. 
In  the  fisherman's  cot  the  wheel  and  the  loom  are  still 

busy ;  1395 

Maidens  still  wear  their  Norman  caps  and  their  kirtles 

of  homespun, 
And  by  the  evening  fire  repeat  Evangeline's  story. 
While  from  its  rocky  caverns  the  deep-voiced,  neigh- 
boring ocean 
Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the  wail 

of  the  forest. 


!■ 


NGFELLOW. 
lournful  and  misty 

whose  fathers  from 

land  to  die  in  its 

id  the  loom  are  still 

13D5 

ips  and  their  kirtles 

angeline's  story, 
deep-voiced,  iieigh- 

te  answers  the  waU 


PRONOUNCING   VOCABULARY 

OF   PROPER  NAMES   AND   FOREIGN   WORDS  IN 

EVANGELINE. 


The  diacritical  marks  given  below  are  those  found  in  the  latest  edition  of  Web- 
ster's International  Dictionary. 


EXPLANATION   OF   MARKS. 

A  Dash  (")  above  the  vowel  denotes  the  long  sound. 
A  Curve  C)  abovo  tlie  vowel  denotes  the  short  sound. 

A  Circumflex  Accent  {'^)  above  tlie  vowels  a  or  u  denotes  the  sound  of  a  in  c4ro, 
or  of  u  in  tfirn  ;  above  the  vowel  o  it  denotes  tlie  sound  of  o  in  Grb. 
A  Dot  (■)  above  the  vowel  a  denotes  tlie  sound  of  a  in  past. 
A  Double  Dot  (")  above  the  vowel  a  denotes  the  sound  of  a  in  stiir. 
A  Double  Dot  (..)  below  the  vowel  u  denotes  the  sound  of  u  iu  true. 
A  Wave  C)  above  the  vowel  e  denotes  the  sound  of  e  in  her. 

g  sounds  like  z. 
<i  sounds  like  s. 
g  sounds  like  j, 
a,  t,  6  are  similar  in  sound  to  a,  e,  o,  but  are  not  pronounced  so  long. 

Note  that  the  pronunciation  of  French  words  can  be  given  only  approximately 
bv  li-eans  of  signs  and  English  equivalents.  A  living  teacher  is  requisite  to  enable 
one  to  read  and  speak  the  language  with  elegance. 


Abb^  Guillaume  Thomas  Francis  Raynal 

(Sb-ba'  ge-yon/,  etc.). 
Acadie  (a-ka-de'). 
Acca'dli. 
Ada'yes. 
Aelian  (e'lY-Sn). 

Aix-la-Chapelle  (aks-la-sha-pgl'). 
Amorphas  (a-niSr'faz). 
Angelus  Domini  (Hn'je-liis  dSm'T-nl). 
Arca'dia. 

asphodel  (Ss'fo-dSl), 
Atchafaliya  (S^ili-a-fA-li'd). 
Attakapas  (St-tiik'a-paw). 
Bacchantes  (bSk-kSu'tez). 
Bacchus  (bSk'us) 


Beau  Stijour  (bo  sa-zhoorO- 

B6ne(li(j'Tto. 

Bgn'edlct  BellefSntaine'. 

BlSm'TdSn. 

Briareus  (bri'^-rus). 

Bruges  (brHzh). 

Ciiliii'. 

CiimSn'clieg. 

CSiiiird'. 

Cape  Brgt'5n. 

CSl'tTc. 

Charente  Iiiferieure  (shSr-Suht'  anh-fa- 

re-er'). 
Charnisay  (shar-nt-za')- 
Chartreux  (shSr-tre'). 


102 


PRONOUNCING    VOCABULARY, 


t<ll 


I  \  y\ 


\  t 


«j 


ci-devant  (se-dS-viinh'). 

CotSlle'. 

coureurs-des-bois  (koo'r§r-da-bwa), 

Coutes  Populaires  (k8nht  p8p-H-lSr'). 

couvre-feu  (koo'vr-fe). 

Dante's  Divina  Commedia  (dl-ve'ni 

c5m-iiia'dl-d). 
Diicaiiroi  (djj-ko-rwa'). 
EvSn'gelTiie. 
Fii'ta  M6rgii'n&. 
Father  Felician  (fe-lTsh'T-An). 
Fontaine-qui-bout  (it    u'tan-ke-bob). 
Gabriel  Lajeunesse  (la-zhe-ugs'). 
Gaspereau  (giis-pe-ro'). 
Gayarre  (gl-a-ra'), 
Gnadenhiitten  (gna-dSn-bj}t'Sn). 
Grand-Pre  (grauh-pra'). 
Herod'otQs. 

Horae  Hellenicae  (ho'ie  h51-lSn'Y-se). 
Isaac  de  Razilli  (de  rii-ze-ye'). 
lavanagh  (kSv'&-n&). 
La  016  dn  Cavoau  (la  kla  d^  ka-vo')- 
La  Gazza  Ijadra  (la  gat'z&  la'dr&). 
La  Iliive. 
Lii  Salle. 
Le  Carillon    de    Dunkerque  (le  kSr-e- 

y8nh'  de  diin-keik'). 
L^ticlie  (la-tesh'). 
Lilinau  (le'lT-iio). 
Louisburg  (loo'T-bQrg). 
Loup-garou  (lob-gar-oo'). 
mattre  de  chapelle  (ina'tr  dS  sha-pSl'). 
Melita  (ing-le'ta). 
Minas  Basin  (me'n&s  basin). 
Mowis  (mo'wes). 


Natchitoches  (nSck'e-tSah). 

nSpSu'thS. 

Opelousas  (Sp-S-loo'sis). 

Outre-JIer  (fjotr-nifir'). 

Owy'hee. 

P5ns&n»iqu5d'dy. 

Pierre  Capelle  (pe-Sr'  kS-p5I'). 

PTs'Tqi.I<l. 

Plaquemine,  Bayou  of  (plSk-men',  bi'60). 

Pliiquet  (pli}-ka'). 

Pointe  Coupoe  (pwSnlit  koo-pa')- 

Poitou  (   '.va-too'). 

Rene  L  i  anc  (re-na'  le-blanhk'). 

Roc'xielle  (rS-shgll'). 

Rossini  (rSs-se'ne). 

St.  Maur  (sSuli  mor'). 

Saintonge  (Rilnli-tSnhzh'). 

S5m's<5n  Agonls'teg. 

seraglio  (sse-rSl'yo). 

Siena  (se-a'na). 

Silphiuni  laciniatum  (sTl'fT-Qm  I&-sTn-T- 

a'tuni). 
Straits  of  Messina  (m8s-se'n&). 
Tgche  (tash). 
Tons  les  Bourgeois  de  Chartres  (too  la 

boor-zhwa'  de  sliartr). 
Upharsin  (u-ftir'sTn). 
Utrecht  (u'trgkt). 
Vend(5e  (vanh-da')- 
voyageur  (vwa-ya-zlier'). 
Wachita  (wSsh'e-taw). 
Walleway  (w511'e-\va). 
were-wolf. 
Wicaco  (we-kanjo). 
Xerxes  (zerks'ez). 


'  ? 


9 


ULARY. 

8  (n5cb'e-t8sh). 

p-S-loo'sds). 
aotr-nifir'). 

dMy. 

le  (pe-Sr'  kS-pgl'). 

B^you  of  (plSk-men',  bI'5o). 

-ka'). 

Lie  (pwSnlit  koo-pa'). 

•too'). 

c  (re-na'  le-blanhk'). 

-shgll'). 

se'iie). 

nil  mor'). 

Snh-tSnhzh'). 

iils'teg. 

■ai'yo). 

a). 

iuiatum  (sTl'fT-Qm  IS-sIn-I- 

issina  (m6s-se'n&). 

irgeois  de  Chartrea  (too  15 

'  de  sliartr). 

fiii'sTn). 

rSkt). 

h-da'). 

ra-ya-zlier'). 

sli'e-taw). 

811'e-\va). 

laHio). 
s'ez). 


u, 


